Il Diavolo del Mare
by shotgunhero
Summary: Amica del Diavolo is the daughter of a legendary pirate scourge. Or is she? After her capture and arrest by the Famiglia Arcana, she uncovers the mysteries of her past.
1. La Cattura

_La Prima Storia_: _La Cattura_

The waves crashed on the sturdy bow her ship, _Il Diavolo del Mare_. The spray of the sea misted across her face. She reveled in the strong wind that whipped against her long auburn curls that flowed from beneath her black, gaudy feathered hat. She felt invigorated, alive.

"Captain! A Regalo trade ship! To the North-Northwest!" her crewman shouted from the crow's nest.

"Good. I was ready for some action," she said. Her mouth twisted in a greedy smirk.

"There's treasure to be had, my boys! Get those sails at full-mast! We're gonna take 'em unawares!" she ordered.

"Yes, Captain!" her crew shouted in gleeful acquiescence.

Her small, strong hands gripped the rail of the upper deck. Her anticipation was palpable. This was the payoff she waited for. The recent take had been slim in the previous months. Italia had all but locked down the Mediterranean. Times were difficult for the entrepreneurial privateers of her day. Pirates were a dying breed, and easy wealth now hard to come by.

Regalo was a rich, prosperous, and more importantly unaffiliated, island kingdom, and the pirate was more than happy to indulge herself in a little redistribution of that prosperity.

They closed in on the trade ship in record speed, the wind at their back, full in the enormous black sails. She gestured to raise their flag, and her men complied. The Mark of Diavolo, her mark, proudly displayed on a black field. She grabbed her spyglass, hoping to catch a glimpse of the merchants as they shivered in dread. Instead, her eyes trained on the figure of a golden-haired young man barking orders on the deck of his small frigate. The pirate's face contorted in a snarl.

"Liberta," she growled.

That man was an enduring thorn in the side of her budding pirate career. He was single-handedly responsible for the destruction of more than a few ships in her fleet. More infuriating were the members of her crew, her men, who met their ill fates at the tip of his skilled blade. It was a vendetta that she harbored with intense ferocity.

"Get ready, boys! We'll be boarding 'em. There's treasure on that boat more valuable than gold. It's called Revenge, lads! And I'll be takin' Liberta's head myself!" she shouted. The deck roared with cheers.

She weaved her way across the deck towards the mast, barking orders as she passed. With a practiced finesse, she climbed the netting towards the topsail. Again, she peered through her spyglass. Liberta was helping a crewman tie down a cannon. A wicked smile cropped up across her face. They were in shooting range.

"Ready the cannons! Chain shot on the deck! I want that mast coming down!" she bellowed. Her answer was the thundering of cannons below her. She threw her head back in manic laughter.

She slid down a nearby rope, her feet landed on the deck to the thunder of more cannon fire.

"Half-sails," she shouted to nearby crewmen, who jumped to follow her command.

She swiftly made her way to the helm. She grabbed the wheel from her first-mate and turned the rudder sharply, forcing the Diavolo on a collision trajectory. Another round of cannon-fire sounded over the sea, followed by the distinctive cracking sound she so longed to hear. Their mast came down in a mass of billowy white sails and splinters. They were sitting ducks, now. She could easily sink the frigate, and send them all to a watery grave. No, that simply wouldn't do. It didn't have the personal touch that Liberta deserved.

She spun the wheel around again, steering the Diavolo alongside the battered frigate. Not waiting for the boarding party to set the planks, she grabbed a nearby rope and swung the gap between the two ships. Her cutlass already in her hand.

"Liberta!" she roared.

Manic, amethyst eyes wildly searched the throng of crewmen for his face. She fought off their attacks, fiercely cutting down all who barred her path. Normally, she would have played, dragged the battles out a little longer, but her bloodlust could only be sated by the crimson flow of single target. Suddenly, he emerged amongst the throng battle, and she immediately turned her attention to the object of her rage. Their clashing cutlasses showered the deck in sparks as they engaged in a stalemate battle. Both equally matched in terms of prowess. Liberta's aquamarine eyes narrowed, and she laughed, intoxicated by the heady effect of his fierce determination. She loved it when they fought back. It made the taste of victory so much sweeter.

"_Pensiero Realizzare_," her foe shouted. A golden light erupted from the stigmata on his forehead, and she scowled. So, he decided to rely on his powers, did he?

"Shatter," Liberta said as he swung his blade down to forcefully clash with hers. It was an attack easily blocked. Her moment of arrogance evaporated as her cutlass resonated vigorously in her hand, emitting the sharp ping of a tuning fork. Cracks formed along the length of her blade, and it exploded in a shower of shrapnel. Her breath burst from her throat in a roar of rage, and she desperately slashed at him with her dagger. He batted it away easily. Arms appeared around her, restraining her, and she thrashed violently against them. Her resistance was futile, and she spat her curses at the young man's feet.

"I don't understand you pirates," Liberta said as he shook his head. "Put her in chains, Nova can figure out what to do with her."

The young man turned on his heel to bark orders at his crew. The battle was over. Her crew stood in a mute silence. Their previously invincible leader was now in the hands of the Arcana Famiglia. There was nothing they could do, but stare in shock as they dragger her roughly below deck.

* * *

The room was cold and gloomy, dismal and grey. A single source of light loomed overhead. The captured pirate princess sat alone at a steel table, bolted to the floor. She fidgeted against her restraints. The waiting nearly drove her mad with impatience. The creak of the door heralded his approach. Her violet eyes shot a defiant stare.

"Amica del Diavolo," the youth deadpanned. He dropped a stack of papers on the table before her.

"Well, if it ain't the famous Samurai Nova," she sneered. "You're shorter than I expected."

Unimpressed, the black suit clad adolescent sat in the chair across from her, and slowly perused the documents with cold blue eyes. After a long moment of silence, he finally turned his attention to the girl before him.

"You're being charged with multiple counts of piracy, instances of torture and murder. It's quite a lengthy file," he said as he gestured to the papers.

"Yeah, so what? And your point is, pretty boy?" Amica snickered.

"You're probably going to die," the youth said flatly.

"Aye, I already knew all that ahead of time," the pirate sighed in boredom. "You know, I don't like repeating myself. There a point to all this?"

"We are offering you the chance to defend yourself," Nova said, his face and voice emotionless.

"Oh, that's what we're doing? Well, if you really wanted to let me defend myself, you'd bring me a weapon. I don't expect that's the case, so I'll play along."

"I never killed, or tortured, nobody that didn't deserve it. Certainly not any of yours. So, I'm having trouble seeing what you're taking issue with. I even went so far as to leave you your ships, most of the time."

"Yeah, you're practically a saint, Bambina," a smooth voice interjected.

She barked in mirthless laughter. Her eyes narrowed at the newcomer, irritated that she had not sensed his arrival. He lazily reclined against the wall, and regarded her with a slanted stare. An eye patch covered his right eye. It added a bit of mystique to his persona, which Amica assumed was intentional. His sarcasm, however, was a refreshing change from the dim-witted Liberta and his stalwart cohort Nova.

"A girl's got to eat, you know?" she remarked snidely.

"So true, Bambina, but it seems piracy is a concern of the Coin," the man said with an arrogant grin. "And Debito, Leader of the Coin, always comes out to play for the sake of a lovely signorina. But in all seriousness, Bambina, you're in deep with Papa. No telling what you're going to have to do to get out from under this."

Nova issued a snort of contempt that sharpened the wicked gleam in Amica's violet eyes.

"Debito, was it? So you seem to believe I might be able to get out of this, do you?" she purred. Nova shifted uncomfortably across from her. She smirked at his momentary lack of composure.

"I do," Debito said, simply. "There's been rumors-"

"That's enough, Debito!" Nova shouted, cutting him off. "That's for Papa to decide."

"Fair enough. She'll find out sooner or later. Until then, Bambina," the leader of the Coin stalked out the door after flashing his arrogant smile. Nova ran his hands through his blue-black hair as he collected his thoughts. With a sigh, he looked across the table at her.

"Tell me about your contract," Nova ordered abruptly, unnerving the pirate with its suddenness. How the Arcana Famiglia knew her secret was beyond her.

"Contract?" she asked lamely.

"Don't play dumb. It's obviously too late for that. If you don't cooperate, there's more unpleasant means to get the information. Willing or not, you'll tell us. So I'll ask again. What is your card?" Nova asked. His fist clenched.

The tension in his body exuded an aura of danger. She swallowed hard. They could have asked anything of her, but why this? Why the one secret, Amica struggled all her life to protect. She was backed into a corner. There was no telling what they'd do to uncover the truth. With the power they possessed, she was in for more trouble than she imagined. Her swift execution was a child's fantasy now.

"Il Carro and Il Diavolo…"

"When and how?" Nova asked. His wavering voice betrayed his calm, collected façade.

"How am I supposed to answer that? It's always been this way," she answered.

"I see. Well, that's all I'll ask of you today. You can wait for Papa to decide," Nova said.

Amica did not dignify him with a response. He silently collected his documents. The hinges whined as he opened the door, and she was alone with the soft click of the lock. So, this was it. More waiting. The waiting was worse than the punishment, the incarceration worse than death. Death was over in an instant. Her thoughts were burdened with regret. She should have sunk the damned ship. Once again, she played the fool for her pride.

Her fists clenched at her side. _That damned Liberta. If I live through this, I'll make him pay._

* * *

"Did you pick up on a certain family resemblance?" Debito's cool tone broke through Nova's rumination.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Nova replied coldly. The instantaneous halt of Nova's movements gave away his lie. He noticed it the moment he laid eyes on her. He spent too much time around the family not to.

"Is that so? Perhaps my eye is going bad. No matter. I think our new little signorina is going to make things quite interesting around here," Debito said, an amused smile growing across his face.

"She's trouble," Nova said.

"So true. But the fun kind," Debito answered. He pushed himself off the wall, and strolled leisurely down the hall, leaving Nova to his worried thoughts.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it! Any comments or reviews would be appreciated of course. I may come back at a later date and edit it again.

3.14.14


	2. L'accordo

_La Secunda Storia: L'accordo _

A single candle flickered on the table before him. A large alchemical text lay open on its thick binding. He paid it no mind. Jolly's thoughts took him elsewhere, to a certain occupied cell a mere two hallways over.

He spent most of her life watching from afar as she developed into the vicious young woman she was today. Previously, any interference in the young pirate's life proved unnecessary. Just as he expected, she adapted well to her surroundings. It was obvious, now, as it always had been to Jolly, that she was too volatile for a life in Regalo. However much Mondo would be overjoyed at her return to the Famiglia, Jolly had withheld any information of her whereabouts. After years, the fruitless searching finally ceased.

A frown marred his angular features, and he smoothed his jagged black hair in contemplation. Years of his careful plans laid in ruins with her foolhardy attack.

"Santiago. It seems you failed to uphold your end of the bargain," he muttered to himself. "If Mondo sees her, it is all for nothing."

"Just as I expected, you know something," a familiar voice growled from a darkened corner in his library.

"Ah, Debito. What a surprise! So unusual to visit the labs," Jolly intoned with feigned joviality. Beneath it, his irritation simmered. He silently cursed the Hermit for choosing the boy, such a troublesome ability. The last thing he wanted to deal with was Debito's spiteful attempt to undermine him. "I always thought you had such a distaste for the dark. No matter. With such a rare pleasure, we should celebrate with a cup of tea."

"What are you planning, Jolly? I know you're up to something," Debito growled.

"A shame it seems like you're not here for polite conversation. If I don't answer, what will you do? Are you going try to kill me? How many times has it been now? I've lost count," Jolly said, mockingly. The metallic click of Debito's pistol broke the momentary pause. Jolly snickered darkly. He turned his piercing lavender gaze towards the trembling firearm.

"You never had the courage to defy me, Debito. Don't waste my time with your petty vendetta. Hate me as much as you want. I have only ever act in the best interests of Regalo."

"Are those the same interests that nearly cost Felicita her memory?" Debito flared, jamming the barrel of his pistol into Jolly's cheek.

"The very same. Stay out of my way, Debito. The situation is beyond your understanding," Jolly warned, unaffected by the young man's empty threat. "Now, get out before I am forced to remove you myself." He paused to offer Debito the opportunity to leave of his own free will. With a snarl, Debito retreated out of the laboratory.

"This isn't over, Jolly. I will be watching you," Debito growled, and stalked off into the basement hall.

* * *

"Mia bella figlia, you must promise me," her father murmured. His voice was faint and gravelly. His weak, erratic breathing was his death knell. The malaria poisoned his blood, weakened his body, and finally staked its claim on his life.

"Anything, Papa! Anything!" she cried.

Tears stained her sun kissed cheeks. Her tan was a gift from the sun, a memory of their hours spent together as father and daughter on the open seas. Hours that would never again be shared.

"Please, my darling Amica. Don't seek out the Arcana Famiglia any longer. Leave them... Leave them alone," the frail pirate king begged. Tears flooded his dark brown eyes, kind eyes filled with a familial love so strong it overwhelmed the nonexistence of their blood ties.

"But Papa, I don't understand. We've never avoided them in the past. Why now? And if not them, who else is left for us?" Amica asked.

With their grasp on the seas as weak as they were, Amica could not understand her father's request. The fleet was harried at every turn by the independent kingdoms of Italia Romana. Even divided as they were, they unified in their opposition of piracy. It left her little other choice than to focus on the smaller, less powerful island kingdoms of the Mediterranean. Regalo was a prime target.

"Please, Amica. Just promise me," her father begged. He grasped her hand with as much strength as he could muster.

"Of course, Papa. I will find another way," she whispered as she squeezed his hand tightly.

"I've always loved you, Amica, as if you were my flesh and blood. I'm sorry. I haven't always been honest with you. I have lied for many reasons, but it is strange to think that I, Santiago, the most feared pirate in the sea, cared for nothing more than to protect his little girl," he laughed weakly. The soft laughter triggered a flare up with his illness. His shoulders shook with a deep, phlegmy cough. Amica winced. It was painful to hear.

"I don't care, Papa. You know I love you, too. Nothing matters to me except that you stay here with me. Please don't speak anymore. Save your strength," she whispered as she dragged her thumb across his thin hand, a hand that was once so strong. Just when she believed she was incapable of producing more, new tears painted tracks down her cheeks.

"No, Amica. My time has passed. You will lead the men... With my blessing. Be happy... Always..." he said. His breathing became shallow. Amica's shoulders wracked with painful sobs. She could no longer contain her grief, deny her pain.

"No, Papa. No stay with me. I need you. The men need you. Please," she wept.

"I... love..." His hand relaxed its weak grasp on hers. He shuddered his last gasp.

"Papa!" she screamed to her empty cell. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut, hot tears bleeding from their corners. She gasped for air. Her lungs hungered for relief from her overpowering grief. How could she have forgotten that promise she made those three short years ago?

It was dark. Night had fallen. She could not remember when she fell asleep. A sharp, crescent moon hung in the crisp sky. She stared at it longingly through the bars of her cage. Agitated, a sense of restlessness and pining for the sea claimed her. However, she knew she was the only one to blame for her predicament. It was her due, after she broke such a meaningful promise.

"Papa, please forgive me..."

* * *

A/N: Once again, thanks for reading! Any constructive criticism would be welcome.

3.15.14


	3. La Fuga

_La Terza Storia: La Fuga_

The tumblers in the deadbolt clicked, the sound resonating through her lonely prison cell. The hinges whined softly as her cell door cracked open. The prisoner stared into the inky dark of the room.

"So, he's finally decided," she said blankly as she resigned herself to her fate. Worst-case scenario, they doomed her to rot in this grimy prison.

A silent figure entered the room, cloaked in a sweeping black cape. She assumed it was a man based on the figure's towering height. His face was obscured beneath a white mask. Black eyes holes revealed nothing of the character behind. He gestured for her to exit, and she complied, wordlessly. Any resistance she could have mustered would have ultimately been futile. Were she able to dispatch her escort, there were many other Famiglia members left. She couldn't hope to fight them all.

They walked for quite some time. The air grew cooler, crisper as they left the building, traversing the empty thoroughfares of Regalo. The soles of her boots scraped against the brickwork of the roads. Her escort chose a meandering path that cut through narrow alleyways. She could taste the familiar brine in the air that heralded the approaching wharfs. Her mind recoiled in confusion, but she continued to follow in silence.

"Here is where I will leave you," the masked man said. "You will find a boat for passage into the bay. Il Diavolo awaits you there. Leave and do not return."

"Why are you helping me?" Amica asked. Suspicion tugged at her mind. Any hope of escape was too convenient.

"Consider me a friend of the family. You are not wanted here. Keep a low profile from this day forward, and no one will come for you," he said.

"I see. Well, if this turns out to be a trap, you'll pay. Don't think that mask keeps you safe. Not for a moment. I will find you, and you'll take a cozy nap with the sharks," she warned lowly.

"I'm not doing this for you, girl. Now, leave," he ordered coldly, and disappeared into the dark alley.

She stood alone in the darkened alleyway. Few options left available to her. Besides pursuing escape, all that was left would be to relinquish herself back to the authority of the Famiglia Arcana, which wasn't much of an option at all. Her chances of escape were not promising. Chances were favorable that the Arcana Famiglia would recover their prisoner as soon as dawn broke. It was near impossible to sail the _Il Diavolo del Mare _without a full complement of able-bodied, experienced sailors. Alone, she would not make it out the bay. Her whole situation stunk of treachery.

With hesitation weighting her steps, she crept towards the empty wharf. The deserted harbor was an expansive network of wooden walkways, with little to no cover available. She did her best to obscure herself amongst the incoming freight. Her heart jumped into her throat with every odd sound, pounding in anticipation of discovery. Numerous dinghies floated in the uninhabited marina.

"Which one of you are mine?" she wondered to the empty boats. It would not matter which she took. Her lengthy criminal activities compounded with her escape made it so an action as frivolous as theft would really impact the intensity of her punishment. She selected a sturdy rowboat, with heavy oaken oars that rested at the bottom.

She bent down to unravel its tie-down, and just as she was about to climb in, a smooth voice invaded the desolate harbor. "Leaving so soon, Bambina?"

"Debito…" Her heart slammed against her rib cage. Of course, her escape was too good to be true. Seemingly frozen in place, she could only watch his leisurely approach. His footfalls thudding against the wooden wharf echoed into the night.

"Surely, that can't be true. You've only just arrived, and you wouldn't want to disappoint Papa. Now, just come along, and this can be our little secret," he said. Debito was a mere few feet from her, before she finally recovered her faculties enough to stand.

"I can't," she whispered. Even after her discovery, she could not bear to raise her voice.

"Somehow, I knew you wouldn't make this easy on me," he said as his hand shot out towards her wrist, capturing it in a firm, yet somehow gentle hold.

The gesture awakened a part of her that diminished in her short incarceration. How quickly a cage could tame such a wild creature was a mystery to her, but her fighting spirit returned to her in a rush. She snatched her wrist from his firm grasp, countering with a quick jab to his jaw. His hand came up to his face and he rubbed the newly forming bruise, a grin spreading across his mouth.

He lunged at her, and blocked her swift kick with his forearm. His momentum pushed her backwards, and he pinned her shoulders against a wall of boxes.

"Now, Bambina, be a good girl, and come along quietly. I don't like to play so rough with beautiful women," Debito said. She struggled fruitlessly against his rough grasp. She had no other choice. She had to break yet another promise to her father.

"_Bachanalia_," she whispered, and Debito was bathed in the magenta glow of the stigmata encased in her left eye.

Images flowed across her mind's eye, his heart's deepest desires and longings. An unexpected scene dominated her mind, called to her in pining desperation.

His soft kisses of adoration trailed down a woman's throat, the soft murmurs of his devotion. His fingers lovingly entwined in her flowing chestnut hair. A small child wrapped in his loving embrace, and the soft, cooing sounds of his voice that stilled her plaintive cries.

_A family of my own. To love. To hold. To protect._

Debito's hold relaxed on her arms, and a vacant expression settled across his dark, handsome features. She remained frozen in his grasp, rigid with shock. She felt dirty. She felt wrong to have peered into his precious and private thoughts. Wrong, to twist and manipulate an object of such beauty. Wrong, because she saw her own desires reflected in his. The snowy-haired man before her carried himself with all the playful trappings of a philandering rogue, but she was a fool. She was a shortsighted fool incapable of seeing the truth behind his lies.

"Debito," she whispered his name sadly, a strange emptiness coursed through her veins. "I have to go."

"You have to go," he parroted back in a monotonous voice. She reached up and pulled his hands from her shoulders. They hung limply at his sides. He didn't resist, he didn't move. He was puppet, a plaything for Il Diavolo, her powerful Arcana.

"Yes. Don't follow me anymore," Amica said as she dropped into the rowboat.

"I will wait for you. _La mia Serafina_. I will always wait for you." The hollowness in his voice, in contrast with the sanctity in his confession, made her want to vomit. Even if it was a confession not meant for her. She manned the oars, as quickly as she could. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and this place as she was capable of.

The sun crept over the sea's flat horizon when she finally reached her mighty Man-of-war, _Il Diavolo del Mare_. To her total shock, she heard the scrape of leather boots mulling around the deck. She carefully climbed the rope ladder, and peered over the railings of the quarterdeck. Her first mate was lazily reclined against boxes on the starboard side, deep in slumber. At the sight of the African pirate, she was overcome with relief. She clambered over the edge of the railing and collapsed in a mixture of joy and exhaustion. The hollow thud of her impact on the wooden deck startled him awake.

"Oi, look alive, ma' boys. Our lady's just returned ta us," he announced in his smooth tropical accent. Amica let out a heavy sigh. It was a voice she thought to never hear again.

"Azaf, you're sure a sight for sore eyes. Let's get out here," Amica mumbled weakly into the deck.

"O'course, mi'lady captain," he said as he helped her to her feet. "Ya heard our lady! Raise the anchor, boys. Set a course for home."

* * *

A/N: Third chapter is two days! I'm on a roll here. I really like this story so far, and I hope that you guys do too! Thanks for ready!

I think I'll start work on the next chapter.

3.15.14


	4. La Strategia e La Santa Teresa

_La Cuarta Storia: La Strategia e La Santa Teresa_

"So you just stood there and let her get away! I'll bet she just had to bat her eyelashes a little, and you helped her into the boat," Liberta shouted across the table at the snowy-haired leader of Coin. He narrowed his amber eye at the slight. For once in his life, he had no witty retort. While he had every intention of returning her to her cell, it was his failure that enabled her escape.

"Bickering isn't going to find her any sooner," Pace said between bites of lasagna. "Do you got a plan? Or do you just intend to continue belittling our friend?"

Liberta snorted as he crossed his arms. His bright aquamarine eyes flashed in irritation. Liberta was the one who found Debito, just hours after dawn, staring blankly into the sea. The leader of the Coins was unable to produce a reliable account of the events that transpired between he and the pirate. His recollection was clear, up until the point where he overpowered her, trapping her against the freight. After that, it was a confusing haze.

"She probably used her Arcana powers against him," Nova said. "There's not much information regarding their effects. Moving forward, it's best to be wary. You underestimated her, Debito. Let's be sure not to do so again."

"More like, I underestimated Jolly," Debito growled. He clenched his fists beneath the table.

"Jolly?" Pace inquired, an expression of shock and confusion painted across his mild featured face. The brunette set his silverware aside to fidget with his wire-framed spectacles. "He's involved in this?"

"I'm positive. He's acting even more suspicious than usual. So, I've been keeping an eye out. I followed the girl and the masked man last night. He brought her to the docks. I can only guess he's the one that let her out. Who else has the keys but Jolly? It couldn't be anyone else," Debito hissed. It was difficult to keep his voice low, but these weren't the kinds of accusations to be spouted in public. Jolly was the second highest ranked official in the Arcana Famiglia, ranked below Papa alone.

"Nova, for one. Felicita and Papa, too. I'm just saying that's not much to go on," Liberta said. The men around the table nodded in agreement.

Nova flipped through the file the Arcana Famiglia accumulated on the recently escaped pirate. His finger paused and he placed the map on the table in front of them.

"I have an idea on how to recover our prisoner. Her fleet plunders the trade routes between us and the main isle of Sicilia," Nova explained as he pointed out various locations on the map. "They also attack trade routes coming out of Sardinia."

"I see, I see! That's pretty clever, chickpea!" Liberta shouted. Much to Nova's dismay, or perhaps, because of Nova's dismay, 'chickpea' was the tow-headed sailor's endearment of choice.

"Don't call me chickpea," Nova said, scowling. Liberta paid no attention to his remark, now fully engrossed in the map.

"Now that we've narrowed down where they are active. We can locate their base of operations," Liberta said enthusiastically. "Based on what we know, I would say our best bet is here!"

He slammed his finger down on the map, resting on a tiny island in a wide expanse of blue. The red lines denoting trade routes crisscrossed in the near vicinity. It looked like a pretty sound theory, if Debito ever saw one.

"I'll talk to Dante about getting some ships to scout out the area," Liberta said before dashing out of the restaurant.

"I'm coming, too," Debito said in quiet resolution. He rose from the table leaving Pace and Nova to exchange a confused glance.

* * *

The Executive Head of the Intelligence Division reclined in his black leather office chair. He closed his eyes to the grand vista before him. His office overlooked Regalo's prominent bay. He kneaded his stigmata in attempt to banish the burgeoning migraine that throbbed with tension beneath his temples. It did not take long for the news of Amica del Diavolo's escape to reach him. While not necessarily his division's direct concern, he imagined it would not take long for her attempts to disrupt their fragile trade network to renew with great vigor, especially, when bolstered by a vendetta.

The circumstances that surrounded her escape were also worrisome. At the conclusion of the Cups' investigation, news circulated through the higher echelon of the Arcana Famiglia rapidly. There was a conspicuous lack of forced entry into her cell, as well as the cells of her compatriots. Dante could not begin to theorize on the potential suspects of an escape of such magnitude, only that it appeared fairly obvious that it was an inside job. He could not imagine anyone so foolish as to raise Papa's ire.

Behind him, the door of his office flew open with such great a force that the papers on his desk scattered across the room.

"Dante!" Liberta called loudly. He trained a weary eye on his energetic subordinate.

"Nova and I were able narrow down a potential base of operations for the pirate," Liberta informed him.

Dante nodded, his interest piqued by this new development. He pulled a map from his drawer. It detailed the existing trade routes between Regalo and the neighboring island kingdoms. Liberta and Dante poured over the map, occasionally pausing to grab for different ones when a subtle knock roused his attention. The leader of the Coins' Division stood in the door, a determined scowl marred his normally carefree expression. In a previous debriefing, Liberta had mentioned casually that the young man was acting unusual since the pirate's escape. Perhaps, it was the after effects of the girl's Arcana.

"I will be joining in on this mission," he stated. "Any resources that the Coins has will also be available to you."

"I see," Dante replied thoughtfully. He wondered if it was revenge the hot-blooded young man sought after.

"Piracy is a direct concern for flow of Regalo's finances," Debito added. It appeared to the leader of the Intelligence Division as if this were almost an after thought. Dante nodded. There was not much he could do to discourage the other division leader against participating.

"Oh, yes, that reminds me. I came to ask if there were ships available to scout the location for any pirate activity," Liberta said.

"I understand. This is a mission that may require a level of naval strength we do not have available at this time. Considering the past discretions against our trade routes, I have increased the security for mercantile ships," Dante responded. "However, I could allow clearance for one of the larger vessels_, La Santa Teresa_. The condition being that you first inquire with Cups about Nova's participation. I believe his abilities will prove useful if the necessity for combat arises."

"You already have my agreement, sir," Nova's cold tone drifted into his office, not the first of his unexpected visitors. First the strange, impromptu visit from not only the leader of the Coins Division, but also the leader of the Cups as well.

"Then it's agreed upon. Liberta, make the arrangements with the crew of _La Santa Teresa_. She's down in the moorings. Make all haste, and have a safe journey," Dante said.

He knew that this was potentially the most dangerous mission that his subordinate had encountered during his career. If they could goad the pirate into close quarters combat again, the odds favored Liberta. Throughout his life in the Arcana Famiglia, Liberta dedicated himself to honing his skill with a blade. There were few that rivaled him. Although, he was uncertain that the pirate was fool enough to fall for the same tactic twice. A long-range naval battle may prove deadly. There were few ships on the seas as formidable as _Il Diavolo del Mare_. Dante, personally, crossed its path in his youth, and barely managed to escape with his life. In those days, the Bloody Spaniard, Santiago de Mataro, captained the fearsome Man-of-war. However, Amica was no less capable a sailor. Dante knew she could have sunk their frigate with ease. She simply chose not to.

The young men, still boys in Dante's eyes, left his office to prepare for the hard voyage ahead. He turned his chair again towards the window behind him, and stared out towards the sea.

* * *

A/N: Sorry to disappoint, but this turned out more to be a filler chapter than I originally intended. I had to put a break between these scenes and the ones forthcoming, because it would have turned out too long. There's going to be more action in the following one, I promise.

This story is taking quite the unexpected turn. I don't even know what's going to happen next... Even still, I'm having a lot of fun just playing around. I stumbled across the fandom a few weeks ago, and the rich culture of the world caught my attention. It's really too bad that I don't have access to the visual novel, because that seems like it would be neat. As it stands, I'll just have to console myself over the scanlations of the manga. I have my doubts that they are going to make a second season for the anime.

If you guys feel inclined, go ahead and shoot me a review. I'd like to hear your thoughts on how I'm keeping to the characters. I don't feel like I'm really doing the best job with that, myself. Any suggestions or criticisms in that manner would be most appreciated, and taken into consideration for editing and future chapters.

I've also thought about going back through and making a glossary of the Italian phrases used. Not only in the chapter titles, but also in certain dialogue pieces. A bit of warning, I don't speak Italian. I just ask Google.

La Cuarta Storia: La Strategia e La Santa Teresa – The Fourth Story: The Strategy and The Santa Teresa.

3.16.14


	5. La Notte Ubriaco

_La Quinta Storia: La Notte Ubriaco_

Her gaze drifted across the endless black. The barely visible horizon was a seesaw that wobbled with each wave that sprayed across the prow. She tipped the clay jug back for another hearty swallow of rum. It was nearly empty. She arched her back, tilting the jug higher, and sucked after the last remnants of her second jug. In a staggering and sudden burst of rage, she screamed and chucked her empty into the calm waters. She glared disdainfully as she watched it disappear beneath the inky surface of the sea.

"More Rum!" the pirate captain bellowed as she staggered across the deck. "I need more rum..."

She stumbled over to some cargo lashed to the deck. It had to be in here somewhere. She rummaged through its contents, carelessly chucking bolts of silk and finely woven brocades over her shoulder until she finally excavated her prize.

"Oh, there is indeed a god," the pirate crooned as she hastily uncorked the bottle. The tang of the spiced liquor bit at her lips, and a comforting warmth spread across her body, settling in her belly. She blew out a contented sigh. "This is the life."

"Indeed. Indeed. But I thinks ya be havin' enough, now. How 'bout ya call it a night, yeah?" A deep patronizing voice shattered her reverie, and Amica choked out a startled yelp. The jug of rum clattered to the deck. She watched the jug roll awkwardly away, nearly reaching the cabin before the realization struck her that this was an unconscionable waste of good booze. She rounded on the perpetrator of this foul deed.

"Azaf! You, _figlio di puttana_! You… You,_ bastardo_! I'll kill you myself!" Amica wailed with labored breaths of rage. Her voice slurred through every insult her pickled brain could imagine as she hurtled forward, throwing an ungainly fist at her first-mate's cheek. Had she been of a sounder mind, she might have avoided the rum that puddled beneath her feet. However, such was not the case, and there would be no recovery from the assault on Amica's already poorly maintained center of balance. With her arms oscillating wildly, she fell backwards to land spread-eagle on the deck. No matter how drunk the pirate happened to be, she would have to be blind, in addition to inebriated, not to notice her position. Her laughter, coarse and bitter, filled the night.

"Tell me, Azaf... When did I become this incompetent?" Amica asked softly.

"Ah, don't be takin' it so personally now. These be troubled times for ya, milady. I know it. An' there bein' some things no matter how hard ya try an' run from 'em, they gonna catch ya," her first-mate said sagely. She arched an incredulous brow. "The boys be knowin' it, too, but we be followin' ya wherever ya be goin'. Ya be the cap'n, milady, and the boys, they trust ya. Ya've always been able to bring in a steady take. At the end a' the day, that's all that really matters. So don't pay no mind ta it."

The pirate captain sighed, and a long silence followed as Amica digested his words. It felt good to know that her men supported her. She would be lying to herself, if she said that it didn't matter. After all that had happened in her life, her crew was all she that was left, almost like a gruff and dysfunctional family. The African pirate sat down, and reclined lazily against the boxes, as if he knew that he were in for a long conversation. Amica watched his dark irises pan across the disheveled cargo, and he flashed his white smile, radiant in the darkness. Her lips pursed in a mock frown that quickly grew pensive. With her inhibitions, such as they were, she felt inclined to relieve herself of the burdens she carried in her thoughts, a notion that concerned and terrified her with all the implications that it carried.

"Azaf, I've been thinking… What do you say if we go straight? Stop all this robbing, and make an honest living for a change. Take up privateering maybe? Or guard the merchant ships?" Amica said.

The moment the words left her mouth, it was as if a great albatross took flight in her heart, carrying with it the weight of her confession. This was an idea she had toyed around with in the weeks since her release. It was the only possible solution she could conceive that would alleviate the problem of providing loot to the crew, while still avoiding any undue attention from the Arcana Famiglia. It was something she wished she had thought of sooner.

"Aye, won't be hearin' no arguments from me, an' I be thinkin' the other boys'll agree ta it, if there's money to be had," Azaf said.

That was trouble in it all. "If there was money to be had." Surely, there must be. She wouldn't be the first pirate to seek this variety of reformation. The trouble was acceptance. Who would take them? Who would put their faith in the most feared crew to sail the Mediterranean? Noble intentions were not considered their most celebrated trait.

Such decisions were difficult when she considered the perspective of her entire crew. They relied on her leadership. It seemed this absence of confidence was here for an extended stay. However, now was not the time to wallow in self-pity, nor in the decimation of her pride. Amica could only do what she thought was best, despite the uncertainty that gnawed at her. The only choice she could make was to push forward into the unknown, and hope that she could deliver on the promises she would make.

"We'll stop in the next port of call and see if we can't catch word of something there," Amica said.

"Aye, aye. We'll change the course. Ya just leave it ta me, cap'n," Azaf said. He offered a lazy salute. Amica nodded and awkwardly rose from the deck to stumble towards her bunk.

Before reaching the door, Amica turned. Her first-mate still reclined against the cargo. "Oh, and thanks, Azaf. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Then I'll be takin' a little more of the cut, yeah?" Azaf grinned mischievously.

"Hmmph… Don't get too comfortable there, Azaf. I still might be able to make do."

* * *

_A/N: This chapter is: The Fifth Story: The Drunken Night_

_Whoa! Our first fully OC chapter. Hmm.. I guess this is an achievement of sorts._

_I felt like it was really important that she swear in Italian. Sort of like Ricky Ricardo on I Love Lucy or something._

_And here's the translation:_

_She calls him a bastard (I'm sure that wasn't hard to guess, haha) and a son of a whore. Pardon her Italian, but she was obviously very distraught. _

_I apologize for the delay in getting this out. I've been a little distracted by another project (It's a Naruto one-shot, explaining the tragic tale of Sasori-kun's first and only girlfriend.) that I am gifting to my dear friend nish0 (If you're into Bleach, I implore you to read her works. There's a lot of really comical stuff. She's much better with comedy than I am.) Anyway, that's been taking up the bulk of my time, because I wanted to offer a degree of excellence that she deserves. _

_I would also like to take this opportunity to thank the people who read this and have reviewed. It is truly humbling and I can't begin to express my gratitude to those of you who would take your precious time to offer praise, and the fact that you're reading this is incredibly meaningful. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! _

_Shout-outs!_

_ Fox Kit Princess: Thanks for the kind words. I am glad that you've liked the chapters so far, and I hope that the newest update is up to your expectations! And SHHHH! That's a secret! (But I'll see what I can do about pairing her up.)_

_ Breanna: Here's your update! Sorry it took so long! And I'm so touched that you liked it._

_ Our dear friend, "Guest": Thanks for the praise! And I would be totally lost without my precious Google Translate. My years in Spanish only take me so far, and so are only a limited resource to draw. In fact, through writing this fic. I've been surprised with how similar the two languages are. I guess it's probably obvious to some people, but I'm not exactly clever when it comes to things like this._


	6. Sogni e le Tentanzioni

Il Sesto Storia: Sogni e le Tentanzioni

Her eyes cracked open a minute amount, and she groaned. Too much light. It was so bright it blinded her, painting the world a radiant white. She squinted her eyes in attempt to discourage the throbbing ache that sprang to life behind her eyes. Without a point of bearing, she could feel the ground begin to shift beneath her feet. It started as a slow spin that grew in momentum, and sloshed the contents of her sensitive gut. Her arms coiled around her painfully nauseated stomach that to her utter shock was devoid of clothing.

Amica's snapped open. The white light was no mere illusion as she once suspected. It was a place with no horizon, no borders, and no defining characteristics. Not even the sea could rival the vastness of this place. It was empty, but then somehow not, for she was filled with the strangest sensation. Such as one gets when walking in an empty alley at midnight, the tingling of skin, the feeling of eyes upon her even though she knew she was alone. Immediately she felt vulnerable and exposed. Her hands and arms moved to cover herself, in a pose reminiscent of the great Venus di Milo.

Dark, perverse laughter echoed through the void. "Such a naïve little girl. Don't bother to hide. You already belong to me." The rich, masculine voice jeered, ringing with the peals of mirth.

The pirate turned on her heel to face the origin of the voice. The sight made her jaw fall slack in shock. An enormous Tarot card loomed before her. It's face depicting a gruesome scene. An enormous satyr reclined on a throne constructed of human bones. Between its curled horns, a crown resting on his wicked brow, adorned by a large golden pentagram. Two naked women caressed each goat-like leg, their faces frozen in a mask of lustful pleasure. And such was each deadly sin depicted. Wrath, Envy, Avarice, Sloth, Pride, and Gluttony all took their place at his side, like some wicked raiment, resplendent with the pleasures of sin.

"You..." She could barely choke out the words. "It's you. Il Diavolo."

"You've been ignoring me, _mia amica_. You do not rely on me as you should," Il Diavolo intoned sweetly.

"I'll never rely on you! Who would trust a wicked, evil creature like you?" Amica flared.

"Good? Evil? Who are you to decide! I am the mirror set against a man's soul. How am I to blame for the wickedness that resides within? It is they who indulge. It is they who drink of my pleasures beyond their fill! It is their fault, and theirs alone, for possessing such fragile, corruptible hearts!" Il Diavolo thundered.

"And it is your machinations, your manipulation that drive them to this folly!" Amica shot back. "It is you, who twists the beauty of a good man's heart."

"You speak of the young man? The one called Debito, no? Did you see something in him, _mia amica_? Something that reminds you of your own desires? Such a tender little flower, you are. You're still so incorruptible, even after all your cruelty. You're so beautiful to me, and with such a perfect existence that your heart would be so pure in all your depravity," the disembodied voice crooned. His confession turned her stomach. She looked to the card in disdain, hovering ominously in the white void.

"Do not blame me. Do not blame our power. You think it was we who corrupted him but it was nothing of the sort. It was always thus," Il Diavolo continued.

"You're lying! I saw it! I saw it with my own eyes! You enticed him with his fantasies, used them for my benefit," she yelled, defiantly. Even now, she could still see the longings of the young man's heart, the desire of true belonging. It was so beautiful, so pure, and she exploited it, tarnished it.

"Pray tell, _mia amica_, in what ways did I corrupt the Lust that exists in that man's soul? He, who longs for the past. He, who lusts for his first love, the childhood friend who was stolen from him. His precious, Seraphina," Il Diavolo snickered.

"What do you know of him?" she shouted.

"Know? I know many things. I know the darkness that consumes his heart even now, the Wrath, the Avarice, the Lust that he nurtures. It is the fertile soil for where sin takes root. He hunts, and only I can save you from the darkness that comes."

"And what would you have to gain, Diavolo, from helping me?"

"Perhaps I have not made myself clear, Amica. You are bound to me. Do not deny me. Do not deny this gift, the love of your mother and father."

"My parents? Tell me what you know!" Amica yelled. His coarse laughter filled the emptiness.

"That, _mia amica_, will be revealed in its own time. This exchange has reached its end. Remember this, _mia amica. _Remember well. Use me, and I will give all that you desire. I know your desires. I see the hearts of all men. Your longing to provide for the crew, your desire for safety, your newfound longing for righteousness, all are known to me, _mia amica._ Use me. Then all will be within your grasp."

The white void drifted into darkness, and she reemerged with her eyelids tightly shut, tears leaking from behind the long fringes of her lashes. Her whole body was rigid, and breathing was difficult. But it was just a dream.

"Please, let it just be a dream," she begged. Even if it was a dream, it was one that felt so real, so felt sick. The oily coating of his words still surrounded her mind. She leaned over the side of her bunk and purged her the contents of her stomach into the copper chamber pot.

A harsh knock at the door filled her cabin, and hobbled to the door, her whole body aching. She cracked the door, the eager sun glaring into her eyes. She starred into the blurry silhouette of her crewman.

"What do you want?" she gritted out.

"Captain, we've made port," he answered.

"Great… Let's get this over with," she muttered and stalked out onto the deck.

* * *

_A/N: I changed my mind about adding the second part. Sorry about that, folks. I just thought it was too opened ended and disjointed from this part. So we'll be picking up with that next chapter. _

_I hope that you like where this is going. I've already got the next few chapters plotted out, and I am really looking forward to them. Next one is probably a little filler, and then expect a little gap in the update between Ch. 7 and Ch 8. I want to make sure I do an especially good job on that one. So I need to daydream about it a little._

_As always, thanks for reading. If you have any comments, I'd really appreciate them. If there's something that you want to see and I haven't been delivering, please don't keep it to yourself. PM me, I'll do my best to cater to it, depending on how it fits with what I've already got mapped out. I'm always looking for new inspiration. _

_Previously hitherto forgotten disclaimer:_

_Oh, and I forget to type this out, because I feel like it's obvious. I don't own La Storia della Arcana Famiglia. Those honors belong to someone else, whom I don't really know. I just like to play in their world. _

_Translation: _

_This chapter is called The Sixth Story: Dreams and Temptations_

_Mia amica = my friend (feminine)_


	7. Colmare il Divario

_Il Settimo Storia__: Colmare il Divario_

"Land Ho! Land Ho!" the crewman shouted down from the crow's nest. His calls punctuated by the clanging bell. Liberta peered through his spyglass to see the faint shadow on the horizon. He panned across the sea, pausing as the form of the snowy- haired youth that invaded his scope, obscuring the view of the approaching island. He stood at the bow. His shadowed eyes stared into the vast expanse of the sea. So it had been since their departure. Each day that passed, the leader of the Coins grew more sullen and moody.

Liberta collapsed his telescope, and frowned as he deposited it into his belt loop. In several long strides, he closed the distance between himself and his old friend.

"With an expression like that, you're likely to ruin your reputation with the ladies. What's gotten into you anyway? I haven't seen you smile in about a week. Don't tell me the Invincible Debito gets seasick," Liberta playfully jeered, and clapped his hand on Debito's shoulder. The other man didn't acknowledge Liberta in the least. Unfortunately for Debito, Liberta was unabashed. His reputation for stubbornness was not unfounded. "Invincible or was it invisible? Hmmm... No matter. Or maybe there just aren't enough girls on board. Withdrawals? Don't worry there will be plenty of young women at port."

Liberta noticed the leader of Coins' jaw tense, and the tow-headed young man swallowed hard. This wasn't gearing up to be a pleasant exchange.

"We're wasting time here. Why are we stopping?" Debito responded coldly. "Shouldn't we make straight for her hideout?"

"Eh? Yeah, about that. I thought we would make a stop in Fortuna. See if there wasn't any word first. There's no saying that she is going right to ground," Liberta explained. He eyed Debito warily. Maybe some time off the boat would do him well.

La Santa Teresa lowered her sails as they approached the harbor. He expanded his spyglass, again and panned the harbor. His breath caught in his throat at the sight before him. A familiar ship tied down at the moorings, it's enormous black sails fluttering lazily in the breeze.

"_Maledire tutto_, she's here," he muttered.

It failed to register in the blonde man's mind, that an encounter on shore was the most preferable. He wanted to avoid any run-ins between Debito and the pirate. They were under orders to recover her alive. When the words that followed were "at all costs", he imagined whatever excuses he could muster for presenting Papa with Amica's corpse would somehow be insufficient. Liberta was good with a sword, but not quite good enough to stop a bullet.

"What did you say?" Debito asked in a low growl.

"Eh? Ah... Er... Well, you see, this side of the harbor is all full up. Yes. That's it. We're going to have to approach from the West, and right now, we're on the East. And so, I'll be going now," Liberta said, quickly.

He made a beeline for the quarterdeck. Nova leaned on the railings, the picture of constant vigilance. Liberta wasn't exactly surprised to see how well he had adapted to life on the sea. He expected no less from his rival.

"Hey Nova," Liberta whispered. "Come here. We've got a serious situation here."

"Really? What would that be?" Nova asked.

"She's on Fortuna. Il Diavolo del Mare is at the moorings. We have got to change course. Right now," Liberta replied, still keeping his voice low. His gaze nervously darted between Nova and Debito, who kept his eyes locked on the approaching harbor.

"And why would we do that?" Nova asked irritably. "She's right here."

"Do you really need to ask?" Liberta said as he subtly gestured towards the bow of the ship. Nova nodded, his expression darkening. Liberta wasn't the only one to notice their friend's dark mood. It was a topic of many a clandestine conversation. The mission became less of how to capture the pirate, and more how to ensure her survival. Nova theorized Debito might still be suffering the effects of the girl's Arcana. Of that, Liberta was unsure. The only thing he was sure of, was that his instability was a complication to their mission that they really could not afford. Wordlessly, he took the helm from the crewman and steered towards the opposite harbor. This might put them back a ways on their mission, but with Amica del Diavolo in their sights, they were closer than they were before.

Before long, La Santa Teresa was lashed to the moorings, and the companions stood on the harbor discussing strategy. The foreman of the dockworkers approached their group. It was obvious that he was an ill-tempered man from the way he carried himself. He exuded an aura of hostility.

"Oi, Regalo!" he greeted. "You got trade?"

"No, sir. We're here on… uh… pleasure," Liberta answered warily. It wouldn't be wise to run around spouting their intentions, with the chance that it may be catch the wrong ears.

"That's the other docks, over on the west-side. This harbor is for cargo only," the foreman explained irritably. "Ya best shove off."

"Ah, well… you see…" Liberta stammered. He cast a nervous gaze towards Debito.

"We got business, here," Debito snarled. "And this dock seems good enough to me. If you want to make trouble, I'd be more than happy to discuss it with you _privately_." The snowy-haired young man's hand dropped to his pistol, and the foreman swallowed hard.

"I… well… I guess that I can make an exception, this once. So… uh… be quick about your business," the foreman said with a half-hearted gruffness as he nervously retreated. Liberta cast a wide-eyed stare at his friend.

"Well, now that that's settled… Chickpea, you have the most experience with information gathering, so I'll leave that to you while Debito and I make our courtesy visit in to the Governatore," Liberta suggested. Nova nodded and stalked off in the westerly direction, leaving a scowling Debito behind.

"The Governatore? I'd say, we start looking for a tavern. We're wasting time," Debito said.

"Er… Well, while you're probably right, it's something that has to be done," Liberta said. In light of Debito's recent display of hostility, Liberta reckoned, it was, the sooner the better.

The left the wharf together, and walked a distance into the city. Eventually, the ramshackle buildings gave way to the more grandiose residences of the more prestigious members of Fortuna's élite society. They stood at the wrought iron gates of the sprawling compound of the Governatore's mansion. Two well-armed, uniformed guards stood at attention, most likely they were among the ranks of the Governatore's personal guard.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. I am Liberta, a senior member of Regalo's Arcana Familgia. We are here as a courtesy to the Governatore. We have business here in Fortuna, and would like his express permission to conduct it unhindered," Liberta announced with a practiced politeness. Liberta was certainly the first to shoot off his mouth and the first to make a fool of himself, but these exchanges of courtesy were part of his job description as a senior member of the Intelligence Division. Whether he liked it or not, there were times that he must act as the face of Regalo. It was a weighty burden for one such as he to bear. The guards gave a curt nod.

"This way," one of the guards said, and turned on his heel, brusquely walking up the large hill that preceded the Gorvernatore's mansion. As they crested of the hill, the mansion came into view. The lower levels boasted the small painted arches so typical of the Florentine style of architecture, which it so blatantly copied. The guard led the way up one of the two grand staircases that focused attention on the Greco-Roman fountain in the center of the square. The statues were of twin gladiators frozen in brutal dance of spears and sword. It was truly a sight.

Once inside the expansive foyer of the mansion, the guard paused.

"Wait here for the Govenatore to receive you," he said as he disappeared into the mansions. After what seemed like an eternity the guardsman reappeared.

"The Governatore welcomes you, Liberta of Regalo. I will be taking possession of your weapons. You can retrieve them once your visit has been concluded," the guard said. Liberta and Debito both swiftly deposited their weapons into the guard's outstretched hand. He nodded respectfully and led them to the Governatore's office.

The Governatore of Fortuna was dwarfed by his enormous mahogany desk. At their entrance, he quickly stood and greeted them, smoothing his golden brocade jacket flamboyantly, almost as if to draw attention to it purposely. Liberta fought keep the incredulity from his face.

"Thank you for receiving us unannounced, Governatore," Liberta said.

"Please, please call me Giuseppe. And think nothing of it, Signore Liberta. As a man of my station, I expect the visits of foreign dignitaries such as yourself. Now, please, do tell, what brings Regalo to this fine island?" the Governatore said with an extravagant bow. Upon rising, Liberta's attention was drawn by his ragged wheezing of the finely dressed overweight man. The Governatore wiped the perspiration from his flushed, swine-like face extravagantly with a luxuriously embroidered silk handkerchief.

"We have come seeking information of the whereabouts of the pirate known as Amica del Diavolo," Liberta stated.

"Ah, yes. What a charming woman! She was here, recently, you know? She has pledged to join forces with the Fortuna Navy. You may have heard the rumors. We seek assistance in fighting the Venice. They have unlawfully attacked my fair nation, and so her visit her was a tremendous blessing to us. Some of the villagers have taken to calling her _La Signorina Benedetta,_ such is the fortune she brings," Guiseppe said, smiling. Liberta winced. This was the last possible event he could have imagined. Debito accompanied him for the purpose of distracting him from the presence of the girl. He never would have imagined that brining him here would result in exposing her. Not to mention that she managed to ingratiate herself to such a degree.

"She's here?" Debito asked. Liberta glanced at his friend, the lines of his body taut with tension.

"Ah, yes. She just left," the Governatore explained. "See here is her contract, binding her to the service of myself and the proud peoples of Fortuna."

"Where is she now?" Debito asked. Liberta felt his control over the situation slipping through his fingers.

"If you're so keen to see her, a gala event will be held in her honor tonight. The lovely girl, she tried her utmost to discourage me, but this is something to be celebrated, you know? Were you aware that this young woman commands a fleet of thirty battle-ready ships? Ah, but I have digressed, the gala event. Yes, yes. The only way the girl would agree, was to hold a masquerade ball. What a devilish little thing, she is! Holding a carnival in the midst of war! Ha! That will show those Venetians! Don't you agree?" Giuseppe said in excitement.

"Then I will assume you were unaware of her criminal past. We have come her to detain her and return her to Regalo for judgment. We were hoping for your cooperation in this," Liberta stated.

"Not possible. What you ask is simply impossible," the Governatore screeched.

"Regalo will be sure to remember this. Then, if there is nothing more you wish to discuss, I bid you farewell," Liberta said. His empty threat hung in the air. The Governatore fidgeted nervously. "Thank you for meeting with us."

"Wait! Wait, gentlemen. Surely, we can come to some sort of agreement, no? In an effort to further the beneficial relationship between our two proud nations, I have a proposal," The Governatore said.

"An agreement?" Debito asked, frowning. "Do you mean to betray the girl?"

Liberta's eyes widened as he regarded his friend. He didn't seem as pleased by this as Liberta would have expected.

"No, no. Of course not," Guiseppe back-pedaled. "However, the terms of my agreement to Signorina del Diavolo are for the length of this conflict. If, perhaps Regalo were to pledge their support as well, I may be persuaded to revoke her protection, yes?"

"This is the breadth of your loyalty. Governatore?" Debito snarled. The Governatore's mouth widened with shock, and his face began to grow flush with irritation.

"That's enough, Debito. I apologize for my companion's insinuations," Liberta quickly said.

"As you should be! I have never been so insulted," Giuseppe balked.

"My apologies, Governatore. You have given us much to consider. Please give us time to respond. We will have you answer on the morrow," Liberta said, bowing slightly. "Thank you for your willingness to cooperate."

With that, the two men left the mansion. They walked in tense silence back towards the ship.

"Debito, I have to ask," Liberta began cautiously. "Why were you were you so upset at the Governatore? I would have thought you would have been happy."

The leader of Coins was silent for a long moment, a pained expression etched in his once carefree face. He sighed wearily.

"I am. But at the same time, for some reason, I'm not. Honestly, I don't know…" Debito gritted out.

"What do you mean, Debito? Is everything okay?" Liberta asked, concerned.

"That's all you're getting. I'm done talking about this," Debito snapped and stalked ahead towards the ship. Liberta frowned. Confusion and concern railed against his respect for Debito's emotional space. He only hoped that his friend would reach out to him before something terrible happened.

When Liberta made it back to the ship, Nova stood on the wharf, waiting for him, with a pensive frown knitting his brows.

"Debito filled me in," Nova said flatly.

"Just goes from bad to worse, doesn't it?" Liberta said as he sat down, physically and mentally exhausted. "Well, the Governatore is willing to barter for her, but honestly, she's not worth it. I say, it's better left alone than to drag us into a war that we've got no part of."

"You say that, but I'm not so sure," Nova muttered.

"You holding out of me, chickpea?" Liberta asked, irritably. It seemed like everyone was keeping a secret from him, and it was starting to get on his nerves. With Debito, at least, he understood, somewhat, but with Nova… What was his deal?

"No. Nothing. I just have my suspicions that there's more going on here than we know about," Nova replied.

"Yeah, you're telling me," Liberta groaned, and flopped backwards on to the docks to stare at the peaceful blue sky.

"I'm going to send a pigeon back to Dante. He'll want to hear of this," Nova said.

"Yeah, you'd better," Liberta said to Nova's retreating figure.

Alone, Liberta stared into the clouds, and blew out a weary sigh.

"What have I gotten myself into this time," he mumbled.

* * *

_A/N: I'm so strung out from all this binge-writing, I don't even know what to say. I guess I'll start with my heartfelt appreciation for all the readers! I can't say it enough: Thank you! Your interest and reviews are my inspiration!_

_On to translation:_

_This is the Seventh Story: Closing the Gap._

_Also the villagers are now calling Amica 'The Blessed Lady"_

_I hope you're looking forward to the masquerade ball! I know I am!_

_That is all! Sincerely, shotgunhero._

_4.23.14_


	8. Il Primo Ballo

_L'ottavo Storia: Il Primo Ballo_

Amica hissed through gritted teeth with every tug of the strings that cinched the corset ever tighter. Her mouth was drawn downwards in an irritable scowl. Her discomfort was not the only abrasion on her raw nerves. A constant stream of worst-case scenarios slithered across her thoughts.

At first, she believed her role in supporting the Fortuna Navy to be a blessing. It offered not only the amnesty and protection she required, but also provided her fleet the opportunity to plunder one of richest nations of Italia with impunity. It was more than she could have ever dreamed of. All she needed to do was spread around a little of her Arcana and that fat little man ate right from the palm of her hand. It was exactly as Il Diavolo said. Just as the Governatore was about to refuse her, a simple tug of desire, and he would have eagerly signed away the entire island. It was so easy it was criminal. However, there was a downside. She gravely underestimated his overwhelming predilection for indulgence of all varieties, which was the cause of this ostentatious party. He was certainly not one to discriminate against any vice.

This carnival, and of all things, hosted in her honor! For the love of all things decent! In what ways did this contribute to discretion? Without thinking, she groaned audibly.

"_La Signorina Benedetta_! Is there something the matter?" the elderly maid cried.

"No, no. I'm just not used to wearing such oppressive undergarments," Amica lied. The old woman nodded sagely.

Before long, she stepped into the extravagant gown the Governatore provided her. When pressed about it, the maids would only answer, "The Governatore is indeed a generous man."

Amica could only arch an incredulous brow. Yes, generous, indeed. How benevolent of he to provide permission to do what she already had been doing?

"My lady, you are ready," the maid said, bowing and gesturing towards the mirror.

Even without the mask, she looked like an entirely different person. Her long auburn curls were now tight, glossy ringlets, piled atop her head, carefully styled to cascade downwards to caress the powdered-white flesh of collarbone. This delicate tower of curls was held in place by a string of sapphires and pearls.

Wordlessly, the elderly maid slipped the mask upon the young woman's cheekbones. Her skilled hands tied the ribbons and carefully worked them into the mass of auburn spirals, now completely invisible from sight. In its own right, the mask was a piece of art. Her nose and eyes were now obscured beneath the plaster contours of a fox's muzzle. It was painted in elaborate swirling hues of blue and white. Silver leaf pinstripes accented her cheekbones, which contributed to the illusion of fur.

The elderly maid put on the finishing touches. Her skilled fingers gently shifted the garment and moved to tighten the lace in the back. She stepped away to critique her work, and Amica ran her hands along the front of the gown, smoothing any stray wrinkles in the fabric. It was beautiful beyond compare. The gown was perfectly tailored, like it had been made for her. The royal blue silk was still cold to the touch. Each panel had been carefully embroidered with golden and silver thread, set with pearls and barely visible diamonds that captured the light, shimmering like innumerable stars.

"What do you think?" the maid inquired.

"I... There are no words," Amica mumbled in a mixture of awe and embarrassment.

"So it is. You are as beautiful as you are generous, my lady," the maid said, smiling softly. Soft pink roses bloomed in the former pirate's cheeks. It may have been the first time anyone ever spoke such words to her. "It is the least the we can do for you, Signorina. You have saved us. For that, one hundred such dresses would not suffice. We can never repay you. Ah, but don't bother with the prattling of an old woman. This party is for you. Be joyful! For tonight we are all young and free!"

The old woman clasped Amica's hands in her weathered ones, and squeezed tightly. Her smile was wide and loving. A warmth and tenderness flared in the young woman's chest, and she was glad for the contract. For the first time it was for a reason other than her personal gain. This woman reminded her that there were good people on Fortuna that needed her. Amica thought she might have done the right thing after all.

"Thank you, _nonna_. I will remember you in the dark days ahead," Amica said.

"_La Signorina Benedetta_, you will be in the hearts and minds of all Fortuna's sons and daughters," the old woman said. "Ah, but you must go! Do not tarry! La carnival waits for no one!"

Amica hurried out the door, bidding a final farewell to the kind woman. The jovial spirit of the carnival claimed her and she walked along the wide carpeted hallway with eager steps. As she neared an intersecting corridor, she heard a door open and booted footsteps enter the hall. She subconsciously paused. Muted as they were by the carpet, it was impossible to say how many there were. If pressed for an answer, she would have said two, perhaps three. A few seconds later, she heard their muffled voices and laughter echo through the hall. She sighed, and smoothed the paranoia from her mind. Tonight there was nothing to worry about. She was far removed from the threat of discovery and from the Arcana Famiglia, as well. They were leagues away, doing whatever they happened to do on that abysmal little island. There was nothing at all to worry about. Thoroughly convincing herself, she continued her journey.

She entered the foyer, and picked her way down the sweeping spiral staircase the lead to the ballroom. A little unconfident in her balance she clutched the wrought iron railing as she descended. A uniformed guard waited at the bottom to receive her. Upon closer inspection, he was what many women would have considered to be quite handsome. His neatly styled dark brown hair complimented the caramel hues of his Mediterranean heritage, offset by the crisp white of his uniform. He carried himself with the upright posture of confidence of a man all too aware of his natural blessings.

"_La Signorina del Diavolo_, it was my pleasure to finally meet you. Your praises are sung in every tavern across Fortuna," the guard boasted, flashing a charismatic smile. Amica blanched a bit, and hoped he was exaggerating for appearance sake. "Please allow me to escort you into the grand ballroom, my lady."

"_Sì, grazie_," Amica replied.

With a subtle incline of her head, she took his arm. Enormous French doors opened on to the balcony of the spacious ballroom. Crystal chandeliers glittered from the ceilings, their refracted light painting the floor in dappled rainbows. Amica's hand dropped from the arm of her escort and took two slow steps forward, resting her gloved hands on the railing. The soft, mystical melodies of the orchestra filled the air, and couples took their place on the floor. Her eyes danced across the waltzing lords and ladies that moved and swayed gracefully. The sight was so beautiful, enchanting, as if she had fallen into dream. As she watched the vibrant colored costumes shift about the ballroom like a kaleidoscope, there was something missing. Was it joy? Excitement? Their movements where choreographed to the most minute movement, a mechanical procession of beautiful dolls. A place so unlike the world she belonged in. A restless discontent swelled in her chest.

Gloved hands captured her shoulders in a gentle grasp, and she turned to face her escort leaning into her ear.

"You look on with such longing, my lady. Would you care to dance?" he whispered, in a hushed tone that would have brought any woman to her knees, but instead churned the young woman's stomach. For better or worse, such was the price for her continued freedom and her newfound popularity. Amica sighed and looked back to the dancers below.

"I don't think…" she stammered softly in an attempt to politely decline his offer, but he just smiled brilliantly before taking her hand in his.

"I insist," he pressed, and Amica struggled to stamp out the growing urge to snarl out a refusal. Instead she resigned herself to the weak smile painted across her exposed mouth. A silent jealousy blossomed in her mind towards those guests whose faces were fully concealed behind a wall of plaster. With a slight tug, he led her down the staircase and onto the dance floor.

They took their place amongst the couples. His fingers laced intimately through hers, and his arm snaked around her in an uncomfortable embrace that the former pirate wanted little more than to wriggle from. But she didn't, uncomfortable with the idea of causing a scene at the high society party held in her honor. She followed his lead with ungainly steps, silently praying for the song to reach its conclusion. Only then could she discreetly extricate herself from this overbearing Casanova.

"Just relax, _signorina_. Let the music guide your feet," her escort murmured. His breath tingled at her earlobes. He had no concept of personal space.

She choked out a grunt of acknowledgement, and her eyes nervously scanned the crowd of onlookers, attempting to find any possible excuse to avoid eye contact. Movement in the throng of guests caught her eye. It almost looked like an argument. An animated blonde young man was talking loudly, pointing in her direction and waving his arms emphatically as he spoke. They were just outside of earshot. His companion shook his head fervently, as they moved closer.

"You're dancing much better, my lady," her escort complimented, smiling widely and she tore her eyes from the developing scene to glance at him. She was slightly dismayed that he had spoken, because despite the fact that she was currently drifting across the floor in his arms, she had momentarily forgotten his existence.

"Look! Here she comes! Now's your chance!" a familiar voice shouted, and she turned to see the blonde man shove his companion onto the dance floor and into their path. Amica breathed a sigh of relief, when her partner halted the dance.

"What's the meaning of this?" her escort snapped, and the newcomer ignored him, turning his intent gaze on Amica. She could only stare back into his black mask that obscured all but his smirking grin from sight. Something about the view set her pulse hammering in throat, effectively robbing her of speech, as well as her ability to defuse the increasingly hostile atmosphere.

The newcomer adjusted his Italian pub-style cap that concealed the heavy fringe of his brilliant white hair. Amica had to admit that he was markedly underdressed for the occasion. His simplistic, unembellished black suit looked drab in comparison to the bedazzled peacocks that strutted around them. Amica found it shockingly refreshing. In silent defiance, her escort captured her again in his embrace and resumed their waltz, but the mysterious man placed a halting hand on his shoulder.

"_La signorina_ is, by far, the most enchanting creature in the room. May I cut in?" he asked her, a devilish smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"No-" her escort began, but Amica raised a hand to cut him off.

"That sounds delightful," she chirped. She flashed an apologetic smile at the guard. "As the guest of honor, this is the burden I must bear, no? Thank you for the dance, signore. It was truly a pleasure. Perhaps, another time? The night is still young."

The guard nodded with a scowl and retreated from view. She stepped eagerly into the young man's arms, and they floated across the floor with a fluid grace. She found contentment in the stranger's embrace. She couldn't say if it was the easy attraction she felt for him or her anonymity, but her previous unease slipped away. She stared into his mask, wondering at the man who hid beneath. One amber eye stared back. She peered into the other eyehole curiously. The light caught and sparkled back with strange violet hues. He turned away, gazing awkwardly at his patent leather shoes.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"No. Please. You have no idea. I can't thank you enough for getting me away from that guy," she replied, laughing.

"Did he trouble you?" he asked.

"Yes!" she cried emphatically, but was assaulted by a sense of guilt. It was not as if she made her discomfort plain. The guard was not to blame. Amica sighed in dejection. "No... I don't know. Honestly, I'm not really cut out for these types of events," she confessed.

He hummed a response, and she leaned into the warmth of his unintended embrace, her chin resting on his broad shoulder. She longingly stared over his shoulder to the door. Amica couldn't imagine spending the rest of the evening of the night being tossed from guest to guest like some kind of prize. Each beat drew them closer to where she wanted to be, somewhere, anywhere else. This stranger seemed different from rest. If she were to stay, her chances were dubious at best when it came to avoiding a repeat of earlier.

"Hey, do you want to get out of here?" she asked, sheepishly. She knew the chances where pretty good that he'd misinterpret her words, but she was willing to accept the risk.

"Right now?" the stranger asked incredulously.

"Of course," Amica laughed as she tugged him by the wrist off the dance floor. Together, they pressed through the crowd towards the door. "I've had enough of these stuffy noble parties."

The stranger cast a sidelong gaze over his shoulder before they slipped through the side door and further into the mansion.

* * *

_A/N: I hope things are starting to get a little interesting... And hopefully more interesting still for the next chapter._

_And I am sorry that I left things on a little bit of a cliff-hanger, but if I was at a scene transition, and I knew that if I kept writing this chapter would turn into a monster. I've been trying to keep them on the shorter side. _

_If I am being honest here, I don't really know how to feel about this chapter when I consider the fact that I am suffering a round two of the worst cold I've ever had (I think it's bronchitis, now...). In addition to being so congested I could hardly form a complete sentence, I couldn't even really edit it all the well. So let's give a hearty round of thanks to my dear friend nish0 for doing a Beta read for us. It is thanks to her that this was posted in a timely manner._

_And I know that I probably should have just took the days off (like I did from work), but Inspiration is a cruel mistress. The "movie" was playing in my head, so I had to get it down to paper before I lost it. I can't speak to how well I was able to do it. So sorry for that._

_Also, I am anxious to hear your opinions of the OC supporting characters that we see here. Especially, what did you think of the guard? I wasn't sure how he was going to read. I have my own impressions of him in my head, but I am interested to hear what you think. And I really liked nonna. She seems like a really sweet, simple woman. _

_Translations:_

___La Signorina Benedetta: The Blessed Lady_

___L'__'ottavo Storia: Il Primo Ballo: The Eighth Story: The First Dance_

_____nonna: grandmother (she isn't being disrespectful, but uses it as a term of endearment)_

_Si, gratzie: Yes, thank you._

_signorina: young lady or maiden (analogous to senorita)_

_____signore: sir (like the spanish senor)_


	9. Tra le Strade Della Città

Il Nono Storia: Tra le Strade Della Città

The orchestra paused mid-waltz. The dancers separated, and murmurs of confusion filled the vacuum of sound. Liberta scanned the room in an attempt to ascertain the cause of the disturbance. Suddenly, the French doors above the balcony flew open with great force, and the Governatore entered the ballroom with all the pomp and circumstance Liberta had come to expect from the man. He waved languidly to the partygoers as he walked to the balcony's railing, flanked on each side by his personal guard. Liberta huffed in irritation.

"So, it looks like he purposefully interrupted the waltz. He is quite an attention seeker this Governatore," he muttered to his friend at his shoulder. Nova nodded stoically. Liberta smirked in response, thinking to himself that he could find no difference in a Nova that wore a mask, and one who did not.

"Attention! Attention! Please show respect to your host and Governatore!" one of the guards heralded. Whoops and cheers exploded from the men of the crowd and the women demurely clapped their hands.

"Thank you! Thank you all for coming! This is truly a day to celebrate! _La Signorina Benedetta _has truly blessed the land of Fortuna. I am pleased to announce her entrance into our fine society," the Governatore shouted. "Where are you, my dear? Please come and accept your due honors!" he called out to the crowd.

Everyone in the ballroom eagerly searched the room, anxious to catch a glimpse of the famed Amica del Diavolo. Earlier that evening, Liberta overheard the women as they gossiped. The topic of conversation being the methods the Governatore employed to tame such a fearsome creature. The rumors were enough to cause Liberta to blush furiously and his friend Debito to clench his fists in a barely suppressed rage. The silence seemed to stretch on forever, and discontent began to spread through the crowd. The surrounding tension crackled against his skin. Liberta turned his anxious gaze towards the balcony to see a guard lean into Governatore's ear.

"Ah, it seems that Our Lady has briefly retired for the evening. She will return. No matter. Please return to your reveries, my friends, and drink to the glorious victory of Fortuna over those Venetian dogs!" Governatore shouted to the enthusiastic cheers of his guests.

The music resumed its cheerful chorus, and the guests returned to their dance with bright and cheerful smiles, their past confusion and irritation forgotten in their celebration.

Liberta turned to Nova, and said "I'm off to greet the Governatore. Try not to get lost, Chickpea."

"Yeah, whatever. I'll keep an eye out for Debito. I haven't seen him in awhile," Nova responded irritably.

"You don't think he's managed to drag her away already?" Liberta laughed.

"You were a fool to have done that. Weren't you the one going on and on about how we should keep an eye on him?" Nova asked. Liberta shrugged, nonplussed by Nova's accusation. Debito needed to lighten up, and if it took a little philandering to get those results, so be it. While Liberta wasn't going to participate, he wasn't going to get in the way either. Besides, it was a carnival! This was an event that was almost made for Debito.

Liberta continued to gently push his way through the crowd towards the Governatore when a firm grasp on his shoulder halted him.

"Where is _La Signorina Benedetta?"_ a low voice growled in his ear. He turned sharply to glare angrily into the face of a guard who looked strangely familiar, and it was then Liberta recognized him as the same guard whose dance he interrupted when he pushed Debito onto the dance floor. Liberta blanched at the implications and swallowed hard, his glare melted to a weak smile.

"_L_-_La Signorina Benedetta_?" Liberta choked out.

"Amica del Diavolo. There's not a person on this island that doesn't know her name. So don't try and make a fool of me! I know you're the one that pushed that rogue on to the dance floor. Now, she's run off with that scoundrel, and if he's done anything to her, I swear, I'll personally see to it that you pay with blood," the guard growled.

Liberta was speechless. _That_ was Amica del Diavolo? He couldn't believe it. In what way was that beautiful, refined creature who glided gracefully through a waltz the same woman who spat at his feet at their first meeting? However, this was the least of his problems now. His thoughts were scrambling through a massive list of scenarios of which not a single one ended well.

"Don't worry about this. We will take it from here." Liberta heard Nova's low voice from behind him.

"Like I'd trust you, Regalo scum! I know what you're trying to do. I know that you've been after the girl from the beginning. It was my duty to protect her from the likes of you, and I'll be damned if I let anything happen to her. If you don't know where she is, I've got nothing more to say to you. Stay out of my way, or there will be trouble," the guard snarled, and pushed roughly past the two Regalo men.

Liberta sighed and ran his hand through his rough-cut mop of blonde hair. He glanced his shoulder at his friend and immediately wished he hadn't. There was so much judgment in that blank white face.

"You don't have to say it, Nova. I already know. I messed up. Big time," Liberta said, his voice flat and hollow with resignation. He really couldn't see a way out of this.

"Good. Glad we're on the same page. Now, let's go clean up your mess," Nova said as he placed a hand on Liberta's shoulder.

* * *

Debito leaned against the wall outside her chamber door. He removed his cap and ruffled his mass of white hair. A whimsical smile played across his relaxed face. This girl was really something else. When he arrived at the party that evening, the last thing he would have imagined was that the first girl he danced with would drag him off into the night.

She had disappeared into her quarters with the words "slipping into something more appropriate", and that was the last he saw of her for quite some time. Even with all of the waiting, he felt free. The haze of what he could only call obsession dissolved the moment she slipped into his embrace, taking with it the restlessness and irritation of the weeks passed. He almost felt like his old self again. Maybe Liberta was right. It was time to put this mess behind him and stop chasing after Amica del Diavolo, stop chasing after answers to questions he did not know.

The hinges creaked and Debito turned his attention to the door. Over the threshold entered, quite simply, the most beautiful woman Debito ever laid eyes on, which was quite a compliment considering that Debito considered himself to be quite a connoisseur of such things.

"So what do you think?" she asked gleefully, twirling around and kicking the train of her black Flamenco style evening gown. It was formfitting through the waist, that even while fully clothed did not leave much to the imagination, and tapered out at the bottom in a flourish of ruffles.

"I think you look radiant, _vulpina_," he intoned smoothly. He was rewarded with the carefree jingle of her laughter.

"_Vulpina_? How clever! Let us go, _sconosciuto_. There is still so much night left enjoy!" the woman said as she laced her fingers through his. With a gentle tug, she guided him through the corridors of the mansion and out into the night.

They walked along the city streets, brightly lit by strings of colorful lanterns, weaving in between their fellow revelers as she guided him deeper into Fortuna. It was quite a thing to behold. The city was alive with celebrations. Couples kissed and danced in the wide brickwork roads with reckless abandon. Fools and entertainers occupied every street corner, dancing and juggling torches to the jeers, laughter, and applause of the crowd. The colors, lights and sounds painted a surreal landscape in his mind.

Soon, the houses gave way to shops and taverns. Music filtered into the thoroughfares and the girl stopped short. The exotic tones of the guitar filled the air, and Debito knew exactly what caught the woman's attention.

"Let's dance!" she cried, pulling him into the dimly lit and crowded tavern.

Single-minded in her determination, she pushed through the dancers and towards the front of the room where the guitar players picked their skillful melodies. They were synchronized together in a rhythmic pulse that set his blood hammering in his veins. The song ended, and after boisterous cheers from the crowd, a new one resumed. The girl released her steady grip on his hand and walked uninhibited on to the stage, where she bent down and whispered into the guitarist's ear who nodded his response. The music stopped and all eyes shot to the musicians.

"The lady says she will dance for us," one of the guitarists announced. "Make room."

Abruptly a space opened up on the floor, and the girl took her place in the center. Her one arm was raised above her head, the other cradled at her waist. Her hands bent at her wrists as she posed for the beginning of song. Tension and anticipation gnawed at his gut, and he watched on with a hungry gaze. As soon as the first chords were struck, her body came alive with movement. Her feet hammered out a thundering staccato, punctuated by the twirls and swift, shallow kicks that whipped the train of her skirt around. Her hips sashayed as her hands twisted around her wrists, floating around her body. Only pausing their hypnotic dance to clap out the furious beat. The song soon reached its conclusion and applause and hollers exploded around him. Debito found himself frozen, unable to join them, his gaze fixed on the exotic woman that accompanied him this night. He wanted to know her, everything about her until no secret remained hidden from him. His throat burned with the simple question that suffocated his thoughts.

"What is your name?" he asked as soon as she returned to his side.

"My name?" she replied, breathlessly. "Tonight my name is Vulpina."

* * *

_A/N: Sorry if this is really long, there's a lot of house-keeping to do that I've been ignoring. _

_Alright! The Ninth Story: Among the City Streets has now met its conclusion. This was a lot of fun to write, more so than even the last. It's nice to know that Amica has a feminine side. Even underneath all the pirate-ness, a girl is still a girl. _

_I also wanted to make a note of where I drew my inspiration for this chapter. If you go to your you-tube machine and type in 'Boy With a Coin official video' you will see Iron and Wine with flamenco dancers accompanying him. It's a really simplistic and beautiful video, and the song is quite the same. I wouldn't say by any stretch that this is flamenco music, that's something different entirely, but it's what I used as the model for her dance. _

_I didn't make note of it last chapter, but I would like to thank BelleDayNight, my beautiful senpai, for doing a Beta for Ch. 8 as well. She was able to uncover a lot of stuff that needed to be sorted. I was under the weather with a pretty ferocious run of what I can imagine is bronchitis. I'm not a doctor… All I know is that today, I am finally feeling a little better! So that's good. Nothing like a good romance to clear your sinuses, right. So thank you, BelleDayNight for all your help. (Oh, and a note. The senpai thing- I never went to school with her. She's my fanfiction mentor, if you will. I use it as a term of respect and endearment! Just seemed appropriate considering.)_

_I would also like to do a little plug for her. She's got a lot of really great fictions running right now. So please do yourself a favor and check them out. She's a master of anything Naruto, but she also does a lot really fun Inuyasha fictions. Also buy her book, she's a real life author, now. It's reasonably priced on Amazon. Get that stuff for your Kindle and support your fanfiction friends!_

_Review shout-outs (Running really behind on this, lo siento!) While the majority of these come from my friends, I still want to say thank you. Actually, I especially want to say thank you to be nish0 and BelleDayNight, because both of you have been so wonderful and supportive that I'm sure that this fiction would not have been near as successful without you. _

_BelleDayNight- Geez! Thanks for letting the cat out of the bag! I guess my foreshadowing wasn't quite as subtle as I had hoped, although I was pretty arrogant to think that I could slip one past my clever senpai! _

_Nish0- Your reviews are so great, and I really love to see your enthusiasm! It really inspires me to write more and better chapters just for you! (Meanwhile ignoring your Beta for Mosaic Hearts… So maybe you should lay off, huh? So I can get back to work!)_

_Guest- Thank you for kind words! I'm trying to update as often as possible, but it's so hard to keep up with your demands. You're really a slave driver, ya know. ;p_

_Well, I think that about covers all of it. Now, on to the translations!_

_All that really needs done with this are the names they chose for one another:_

_Vulpina loosely translates to female fox or vixen. (Because of her mask, see Ch. 8)_

_Sconoscuito means 'stranger' _

_La Signorina Bendetta – The Blessed Lady_

_The Chapter is called The Ninth Story: Among the City Streets_


	10. Dure Verita

_La Decima Storia: Dure Verità_

She knocked back a shot of rum with staggering finesse, and turned towards the man at her side to tug beguilingly at the sleeve of suit coat. Debito turned his easy smile to her. He was already swaddled in the sweet liquor's soft embrace.

"_Sconoscuito_, and you too," she begged him, and he nodded. He was happy to patronize her, satisfy her whims, do whatever it took to reap the saccharine reward of her chiming laughter.

"Aha! Barkeep, one more for my man!" she chirped to the publican, slamming her small fist down on the wet bar.

_'My man?'_ he wondered to himself whimsically. '_I think I can get used to that.'_

Debito was never a man to be tied to any one woman. Not when there were so many succulent low-hanging fruits just waiting to be plucked. However, something changed in him over the course of evening. It could be the wine talking, or it could be the hot-blooded vixen that clung to his arm, but either way, for tonight, at least, he relished in the possessiveness of her words. Debito, also, found him similarly possessed with the urgent call to make her his. To ruin her for all other men, but him. He was almost alarmed with sheer intensity in this longing.

A shot slid across the sopping wet bar right into his hand, sloshing half the contents across his palm. His _vulpina_ threw her head back in rich throaty laughter.

"_Affrettatevi! Affrettatevi!_ We have much more to see! _La Carnival_ waits for no one!" she shouted gleefully. He joined the carefree chorus of her laughter and rocked back the shot in a single fluid motion.

She grabbed his hand and pulled with enough force he staggered off the bar stool, and into her arms. She helped him to his feet, her pearlescent teeth peeking below the muzzle of her vulpine mask.

"I think _Sconoscuito _is weak for rum, no?" she jeered, ribbing him gently.

"Not as weak as I am for beautiful women," he confessed. She scoffed and pushed him gently by the shoulder, evidently having learned of the instability in his balance.

They left the pub and wandered out into the streets, leaning into each other for support. At this time of night the revelry was in full swing, and the merrymakers flitted from destination to destination like so many vibrant tropical birds. The couple drifted amongst the crowd, pausing with them to watch the acrobats balance precariously on their hands, before sweeping into extravagant somersaults. The girl would clap and cheer along, every so often turning to nudge Debito to join in the gaiety, to which he willingly acquiesced. As they progressed down the thoroughfare, the acts, as well as the houses, grew more grandiose. There were fire breathers and sword swallowers. Men on stilts, brightly clad in clashing patterns, ambled down the streets with their awkward gates. Guitarists, accordion players, fiddlers, all lined the streets, supplying the accompaniment to the festivities.

He watched the crowd with lazily, his gaze swaying languidly between the meat vendors, the brewery stalls, wine sellers, when suddenly dark uniformed men briskly walking through the crowd caught his attention. He regarded them warily, guiding the girl to edges of the market in attempt to skirt their raptor-like gaze. They grew closer and closer with each passing moment, and Debito couldn't help but feel they were targeting him.

"Hold there! In the name of Fortuna!" a guard bellowed. The crowd scattered at their call, leaving a vacant approach between the guards and himself.

"_Merda_! They found me!" Vulpina spat, and grabbed his wrist forcefully dragging him down a darkened alleyway.

The guards gave chase, their shouts, for them to halt, echoed off the buildings. They dodged and weaved through the dark, rank alleyways of Fortuna. His _vulpina_ occasionally glanced towards the sky, before changing their course. Even while running, drunken and frantic through the backstreets, he did not fail to recognize her superior navigation skills. Over the course of their flight, he noticed the growing harshness, a briny tang, in the air. The buildings grew more and more ramshackle. There were more and more warehouses. Suddenly she stopped, and muffled her exhausted pants with her hand. She held one finger up to her mouth, in signal to stay silent. He complied, the hair along his neck standing on end.

"The damn girl gave us the slip! We will move up town. She must be closer to the mansion." Disgruntled voices crashed across the silence. It stood in stark contrast to cacophony of the carnival. It was almost eerie. Their footsteps echoed away into the night. Her heard a sigh of relief escape the girl at his side, and she slumped to the ground laughing softly.

"Thank goodness," she muttered. "They were going to drag us back to dance with all those dolls."

"You really don't want to go back, do you?" Debito whispered. A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. The woman stood up and stretched before laughing brightly.

"Did you?" she questioned. A sultry quality invaded her voice that sapped the moisture from his throat and set his pulse hammering. Immediately, Debito knew what she was really asking. And it wasn't if he wanted to go back to the party. It was if he was glad he left with her.

"No. I think I'm happy to stay right were I am, thank you very much," he said, lowly, snaking his arms around her slender waist to pull her flush against his body.

Her low, rich laughter invaded his ears. There was a new quality to the timbre, sweet and lustful. He trailed feather light kisses across the exposed flesh of her shoulder and up her neck, eliciting her soft sighs that only functioned to increase their intensity. He traced the outline of her jawline with his tongue, her breath grew jagged and shallow.

"Sconoscuito." She whispered his name breathlessly, her hands gripping the fabric of his coat, and he smiled into her lips as he claimed them in a passionate kiss that set his blood on fire. Their lips melded as his tongue danced lightly across hers. He deepened the kiss, pushing more forcefully against her, backing her into the brickwork of the building.

* * *

Liberta raced along the crowded streets, weaving between pedestrians with Nova hot at his heels. His heart thundered his desperation as he prayed to any saint that would hear him, to please let him not be too late.

_It's only a matter of time. It's only a matter of time. _His mind rang with this mocking chorus, a doomsday prophecy that only hastened his feet. The cityscape fled past in blur of vibrant reds, blues, and greens and warbling tunes that all mixed together in a nauseating cacophony of dread. On instinct he turned down a darkened alley, his anxiety setting a punishing pace. The sounds and lights evaporated into nothingness, just the sound of his labored breaths and the staccato of his footfalls.

He skidded to a halt, frozen by the sight before his eyes. Nova pulled up beside him and shot a questioning glance. Liberta pointed into the half-illuminated darkness. There they were, locked in a pose that brought even more color to cheeks, already flushed from exertion. The pirate was pinned against the wall in a passionate embrace. Her leg hooked around Debito's leg. Her mask pushed half way up her face, exposing her identity to all that cared to see, as his friend enthusiastically feasted on the creamy flesh of her neck. Liberta wasn't sure if he should breathe a sigh of relief or look away in embarrassment, unconsciously electing for the latter.

_Here? In the open, just like that? _ His mind was rendered blank by the sheer audacity of the scene unfolding before him. He knew Debito bore quite the reputation for carousing, but never believed him to be so brazen about it. He moved to take a step backwards, to retreat from whence they came. It seemed the situation was well in hand, and that his worries were unfounded. Apparently, Debito had managed to come to some kind of an agreement with the former pirate, if their current activities were any indication. Nova stopped him short with a soft touch on the shoulder and a shake of his head.

"I really don't think we are needed here," Liberta whispered. "Seems to me like they are getting along splendidly."

"I think we should stay nearby. I've got a bad feeling," Nova muttered.

"Quit being a pervert! Let's get out of here," Liberta hissed. Liberta could almost feel the heat emanating for his friend's glare. "Fine. Whatever. Let's at least wait out in the street. I don't know about you, but frankly I'm not looking for first-hand knowledge on Debito's most recent conquest."

They turned the corner, and settled in for a long, uncomfortable wait. This really had to be the worst experience of Liberta's young life.\

* * *

Debito's hand drifted up her waist to caress the soft contours of her body, and she gasped heatedly into his mouth. Another mischievous smile tugged at his lips as he traced the outline of her teeth with his tongue. His fingers slid across the chilled flesh of her cheek. He pulled back, breaking the kiss, their hair and masks disheveled. His hung limply around his neck by its strings. He was ready to suggest they find somewhere more appropriate to continue their dalliance, but realized this was his chance to catch his first glimpse of the beauty behind the mask. Drink full of the sight of her. He opened his eyes to catch a glimpse of her face, seeing only her violet eyes wide with shock, tinged with fear. She released him, and just as suddenly, her hands shot up, to press her mask against her face, in a frantic attempt to obscure it from his view. His inebriated mind found it difficult to make sense of the rapidly unfolding events. He reached up to pull her mask away, but she recoiled, backing away, shaking her head desperately.

"No, please. It's better that you don't see. It's better that you just leave now," she begged. Her desperation fueled his confusion. He took a tentative step towards her.

"Please, show me your face. What could be the harm? You have already stolen my heart, _mia vulpina_," he confessed, softly.

He saw her take a steadying breath, and slowly let the mask drop. It fell to the pavement with a hollow clatter. She looked up with a fearful, pained expression. And in that instant it dawned on him, like a flashbulb bursting in his mind. It was _her_. It'd been her all along. His mind was quagmire of emotions, confusion, anger, frustration, and most of all, strangely, betrayal.

"You…" he hissed.

She merely nodded, her large violet orbs watery with anxiety and a profound expression of sadness. But, at this point, Debito was beyond caring. His world was rocked to the very core. The whole night was just lies upon more lies. He thought, for a moment, that he was able to get away from this constant, nagging madness, away from thoughts of her. Yet, here she stood, for once real and tangible. Not the incorporeal stuff of dreams, but a living, breathing woman of flesh and blood, his desire for whom still seared into his veins. In his dreams, it was enough to turn his stomach. The way he touched her, kissed her, the way she called his name, all so vivid, it could easily be mistaken as reality. In real life, it was unconscionable. This woman, she was the enemy of Regalo, his home, and should, also, be his enemy. He'd tried to convince himself of that, but these thoughts… No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stamp them down. And all he wanted to know was why! Why couldn't he forget about her? He stared daggers into her, rage bubbling up in his throat, and the words just pored out as a desperate keening sound.

"You… Why is it always you? Why are you the only thing I can think about? What did you do to me?" he yelled. She just stared on with those eyes full of despair that only stoked his anger. "Answer me!"

"Debito…" She murmured his name, and took a step forward, her hand slowly reached out to him. She was so beautiful, it hurt. And the closer she got, the more he felt his fragile self-control begin to unravel. Fear coiled in his chest. His wrath was the only thing the checked his overwhelming desire. It was something he couldn't afford to lose. Before he knew it, his hand was on his gun. His shaking hands aimed straight at her.

"Don't fucking touch me! Don't you dare fucking touch me!" he gritted out. "Haven't you already done enough?"

"No!" the girl screamed, shrill and terrified. He was momentarily taken aback by her unexpected outburst. "No! You won't do it again!"

She doubled over, sobbing, clutching at her face as an eerie magenta light erupted between her fingers. _Her Arcana? _Debito thought to himself, he suddenly grew disoriented. His vision blurred, and his balance swayed dangerously.

_Serafina… _ A name echoed in his distracted thoughts, the name of a woman he didn't know, or just barely remembered. He couldn't say. He couldn't think. All he knew was that he needed to stop her, this time, before she got away. This time, he would keep her. The sounds of shouting and quickly approaching footsteps echoed through the alleyway, obliterated by the discharge of his pistol. It happened so fast, that he wasn't sure what took place. Just muddled confusion. Masculine groans of pain contrasted against her sharp, fearful sobs.

"You…_ figlio di puttana. _You actually fucking shot me!" Liberta's voice gritted out. He stared, hollow with shock, at his friend, sitting on the pavement, the pirate sobbing beside him as he clutched his shoulder. "What the hell were you thinking, Debito? You could have killed her! You could have killed me! Is that what you wanted?"

"No… I…" Debito was at a loss for words, and he did the only thing that came to mind. He dropped his pistol in the dingy alley. He turned tail and ran like the coward that he was, away from the horror and humiliation of his actions.

"Goddammit! Nova! Go after him. Bring him back. I'll deal with the girl," Liberta snapped. Nova took two steps forward, then paused looking questioningly back over his shoulder.

"Don't worry. I… I'm not going to run anymore," Amica choked out. Nova nodded and disappeared into the darkness.

"Jesus. What a mess!" Liberta groaned.

"I'm sorry," Amica muttered. "This is all my fault."

"No. Well, not entirely," Liberta conceded, pushing himself one-handed off the cobblestone. "Let's get back to the manor. I think I have more pressing concerns than trying to cast blame."

* * *

_A/N: And thus we have reached the conclusion of the La Carnival Arc. I wanted to get this completed in April, so I'm running a little behind on schedule. Not by much, though! I hope it kept you on the edge of your seats like it did me! I tried not to give it away too early. _

_Review shout-outs!_

_ Guest: Here's your update! I hope you didn't have to wait too long. I know how that can be agonizing. Your enthusiasm is really motivating! So keep cracking the whip and I'll keep pounding on these keys. Just a word of warning, now that we've progressed through this arc (Yes, this fanfiction has arcs, however pretentious that may seem, that's how I am working on the outlines. Anyway…), I am going to need to think a little bit on how I am going to proceed. I've got the basic gist of what I want already, so I think by the end of next week, I'll have the next three or so chapters plotted out. So I'd say to check back around May 8__th__ or 9__th__. I should have La Storia Undicesimo ready for posting._

_Translations:_

_La Decima Storia: Dure Verita = The Tenth Story: Hard Truths _

_Vulpina = Vixen_

_Sconoscuito = Stranger_

_Affrettatevi = Hurry up_

_Italian Profanity: (It wouldn't be drama without any adult language!)_

_Merda = Shit_

_Figlio di puttana = Son of a whore_

_Thanks for reading and please let me guilt trip you into reviews! It doesn't really have anything to do with the number of reviews I get, although I won't complain if you overload my inbox with both your affections and harsh criticisms. (^_^) Frankly, I care about your thoughts! I care about you, my dear Reader! Your feedback lets me know how I am doing. I am really anxious to hear your thoughts on the characters. It's something I am often kind of nervous about, especially how Amica is being received by the readers. Anyway, that's all for today! _

_Ciao,_

_shotgunhero_


	11. Il Recupero e Ritenuta

_L'undicesima Storia: Il Recupero e Ritenuta_

Her eyelids fluttered open. Raw sunlight filtered in through the sheer white curtains of her room at the Governatore's mansion. Outside, the birds chirped out their lilting tune as Amica stared into the blank, white ceiling. Her mind was still numb with the shock of the night before. She laid still for some time, hoping the lethargy would slowly slip away. However, the longer she laid there, the farther she felt from wakefulness and clarity, isolated in the comfort and sanctuary of her sheets.

She rolled out of bed, her feet cold against the hardwood floor. She padded over to the small vanity, catching her reflection in the mirror. Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes trapped by those amethyst voids, the eyes of a stranger. Flat and colorless, their familiar fire dead, only cold ashes remained. Her skin possessed an unnaturally wan appearance that matched the pallor of her silk nightgown. She was a ghost of her former self. Or perhaps not, perhaps she finally saw herself for what she truly was for the first time. A tarnished child standing amongst the tatters of her paper armor.

Her gaze drifted downwards, to her exposed throat, a stabbing ache rose to fill the void in her chest. Blue-purple bruises marred her creamy white flesh, serving as a painful reminder that last night was not some fantasy turned nightmare. His touch, which still tingled across her skin, was no mere illusion. She wished the memories could be forgotten, as if she could, by will alone, remove them from existence. Yet, at the same time, a piece of her wanted to keep them locked in her heart forever. That night, she'd felt something. He had too. She knew it, but the hatred that had flared in his amber gaze… It hadn't left much to uncertainty. Her arms coiled around her stomach, as if this simple action could clutch the shattered pieces of her brokenness together.

A muted knock at the door tore her from her thoughts. "Come in," she responded, monotonously.

The door creaked open and the elderly maid crossed the threshold, turning to shut and bolt the door quickly. The woman gave it a backwards glance before approaching Amica.

"_Signorina Benedetta, _there are two guards standing outside the door," the maid whispered, fervently. "One is the Governatore's, I know him. The other one is some dark-haired lad I don't recognize. Does he ever have the sourest expression?" She shook her head.

"I see," Amica replied. _Sounds like Nova, _she thought, a frown tugging at her lips.

"My, and you, too! Now, I'm not one to advise on the goings-on of noble ladies, but a woman is a woman, after all. No matter how the saints have blessed her. So, let's get you primped and pressed. You might surprise yourself with how much better you feel. Besides, you need to show that man what a fool he is," the old woman said with a mischievous grin. Debito was hardly the fool in this situation. She should have known better. He would never accept her after what she'd done. Amica opened her mouth to protest.

"I'll hear none of that, now! You ought to know you can't put one past old _Nonna._ These wrinkles aren't just for show, you know. Now, be a lamb, and get your face washed. I might be just a maid, but I'll not let my lady waste away hiding in her room," Nonna tittered on, gently guiding Amica by her elbow to the washbasin.

While Amica splashed her face with the cold water, scrubbing off the previous day's make-up powder and dirt, the old woman was rummaging through the closet. Amica turned to watch her pull out a new dress. She had to wonder how the Governatore procured so many in such a short period of time. Amica undressed, changing into the new undergarments Nonna laid out on an elaborately upholstered French-style sitting chair.

Amica stood silent while the old maid nattered on about the happenings of her evening the night before as she dressed the girl, and carefully styled her hair with her aged, yet still steady hands. Amica listened on, not noticing the small smile the crept across her mouth. Finally, the maid tied a petal pink gossamer scarf around Amica's throat and stepped back to admire her work.

"I think that about does it," the maid said with a self-satisfied tone of voice. Amica glanced at her reflection in the full-length mirror and was shocked to find the vision of the beautiful, composed woman contained within its borders. The maid smiled knowingly. "Now, my lady, think not on the things that are done, but think of the things you can do."

With those words hanging in the silence, Nonna gave Amica a light shove towards the door. The pirate-turned-noblewoman drew a steadying breath, turned the deadbolt and opened the door to find it flanked on both sides by two young men locked in an irritable glare. On her left was the guard who escorted her to the ball, and on her right stood Nova. She gave Nova a quick nod of acknowledgement before turning towards the guard on her left. She pulled her shoulders back into what she hoped was a gracious posture, and stared up to the guard with all of the authoritative pompousness she could muster. He blinked back at her, a vacant expression spread across his dark, handsome features.

"Excuse me, guard. Tell me. Are there any herb gardens in the Governatore's mansion?" she requested smoothly. It was almost shocking how easily she fell into the role of noblewoman's condescension.

"Herb gardens, miss?" he questioned.

"Yes," she snapped, coldly. "I believe that was what I asked for. You know, a place where a doctor may gather his herbs?"

"Oh, yes, of course. Do you have business there?" he asked. Nova watched on, silently. Amica could almost see the hint of smile tug the corners of his mouth.

"Would I go there otherwise?" Amica responded. She may have sounded harsh, but at least, there would be no misunderstandings this time.

"O-Of course not, my lady," he stammered. "Please right this way." He turned his attention now to the dark-haired boy standing beside her. "And you, Regalo dog, your presence is unnecessary."

"No, he's fine," she said, lightly, waving her lace-gloved hand dismissively. "After all, he has his own interests to look after. Surely, you can protect me."

"I… Of course, my lady," the guard acquiesced begrudgingly.

She entered the glass-framed observatory in silence, dogged by her twin glaring shadows. Tall trees filtered out the bright morning sunlight and she moved along the meticulously manicured garden path. Occasionally, she would pause and pull a small green leaf from low growing bush before continuing.

"Nova," she called, gently, and at once the stoic boy was at her shoulder as they continued to walk through the garden. Her thoughts drifted towards the young man that took the bullet that was meant for her. "How is he?"

"Gloomy and sullen. Mostly, confused. He hasn't really spoken much since last night, but I don't think he is any danger to you, Amica," the boy replied with a cold, inscrutable expression. Despite this, his voice carried an unusual softness, which Amica took to be his form of reassurance. Even if this wasn't the person she intended to inquire after, a part of her was glad to know that Debito was safe, albeit worse for the wear. Nova was silent for a moment. "I saw your Arcana. Did you-"

"No," she interrupted. "I didn't want this."

"It's a defense mechanism. When our emotions run too high, the likelihood of unintentionally triggering our Arcana increases exponentially. It's happened to me before... when I was younger..." Nova trailed off, pain flashing in his deep blue eyes.

"And Debito?" Amica asked. Between the two of them, he had been more emotional, by far.

"He's different… His powers have been stabilized from an early age," Nova said, slowly. A wistful expression glazed across his habitually impassive face. "If you're at the Piccolino this year, he always tells it."

"At the Piccolino?" Amica asked, confused. Why would Nova assume she would celebrating Regalan holidays, and with Debito of all people? Considering recent events, he'd be more likely to shoot her than tell her a story.

"Just forget I mentioned it," Nova mumbled, recovering himself enough to change the subject. "Why have we come here, anyway?"

"For Liberta," Amica explained. Her voice took on a grave tone, heavy under the burden of her guilt. "I owe him a great debt. It's not like I expect that some poultice is going to make us even, but maybe it will help."

Nova only nodded in response. Amica gave him a weak smile, and continued walking down the path. Small lavender flowers caught the corner over her eyes, and stepped into the underbrush to kneel beside the short, wide-leaf brush. She bruised a leaf with her fingers, its soft bristles prickly against her skin. Nova's long shadow crept over her shoulder, and she turned, beaming a wide smile at him.

"Knitbone!" she chirped excitedly as she harvested her find. "This will be good for Liberta!"

"You know quite a bit about this," the boy commented appreciatively.

"Being a pirate, this sort of thing comes up more often than you would imagine. Rarely do I have access to fresh ingredients," Amica explained. Her basket now filled, she rose and wiped the dirt from her hands. "I think that about covers it. _Garcon_, I think we're ready to return."

"Of course, my lady," the guard responded with a subtle incline of his head. He turned on his heel, leading her from the garden.

* * *

Liberta groaned through gritted teeth, favoring his shoulder. If he thought it hurt yesterday, the moment his adrenalin subsided, he realized how mistaken he had been. A deep-seated ache radiated across his chest and back.

"I don't think it's really necessary to stay in bed for a week," he complained to the nurse who just smiled meekly in response. There was just no getting through to her. Maybe she didn't speak the same language. Even if she did, it might as well have been the case for all the good his grousing did him.

"_Mi dispaice, signore_," she mumbled. The same tired platitudes she used every time in her feeble attempts to placate him. He ran his hand through his blonde hair, still matted with grime and his own blood.

"Any chance of getting a bath?" he grumbled irritably.

His response was another weak smile and another, "_Mi dispaice, signore." _ His jaw fell momentarily slack. She didn't even bother to dignify him with an explanation. Liberta had half a mind to complain, if only he knew who to complain to. The nursemaid dipped into a small curtsy before she quickly darted from the room.

"You've got to be kidding me!" He sighed and slowly, carefully reclined against the wall, hissing in pain as he tried to find a comfortable position. This had to be the worst he'd ever felt! And it wasn't just the fact that he'd been shot. By one of his closest friends, no less. More so, it was the anguish of boredom.

He stared vacantly at the opposite wall. White. Plain, boring white. He would look out the window at his bedside, but the curtain was drawn closed, and it probably wasn't worth the agony to open it. He settled in for a long, boring day. A subtle knock seized his attention. Any momentary elation he felt for the impending distraction was immediately replaced by a violent and searing pain that robbed him of the ability to breathe.

"C-come in," he choked out between gasps, a heavy dose of endorphins thrummed in his veins.

The hinges whined pathetically in response, and in entered the strangest sight. He blinked dumbly before rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palm. Surely, he was hallucinating from the pain. A vision, a beautiful woman, more beautiful than he could ever remember seeing, casually walked into his sick room. The ruffles of her white sundress swayed with every step, her rose colored curls glistening in the natural light that filtered into his room. He stared vacantly, before realizing his state of undress. A heated blush flamed across his cheeks, spreading as far as his ears. He pulled up the white sheet past his armpits and slouched into his bed, his only form of protection from her probing eyes. She removed her lace gloves and set them on the table at his bedside, and placed a basket at her feet. Her painted lips split in a bright smile.

"Don't bother, Liberta. It's really nothing I haven't seen before," she said, laughing. The young man blanched visibly.

"A-Amica?" he choked out in shock. Her violet eyes gleamed with a devilish light that set any doubt he had to rest. "You… You really clean up well, you know…" Liberta stammered out. "I almost didn't recognize you."

"Thanks, I guess," Amica laughed. "You look like a wreck."

"Yeah, that tends to happen when you get shot," he said lightly, rubbing the offending shoulder. Her gaze dropped to her shoes, and Liberta swallowed hard. "You know they won't even let me wash my hair!" he shouted in outrage, breaking the awkward silence. He was rewarded with a small smile.

A long, surprisingly comfortable silence passed between them as he watched her slowly take a mortar and pestle from her basket, and carefully grind large green leaves into some strange garish mixture. His curiosity got the better of him. "What are you doing?"

"It's a knitbone poultice. For your wound," she replied quietly. "It's the least I could do…"

"You really don't have to do that," Liberta said. "Besides, are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Yes, I'm sure." Amica laughed, and turned her attention towards the young man. Evidently, finished with her mixture. "You're going to have to sit still." He nodded meekly, unsure of what was to follow.

She was close. Far too close. His hands gripped the dining chair. A furious rouge dusted his cheeks as he tilted his head backwards. The warm water flowing down his neck in tiny rivulets as her small hands worked the lather into his straw-blonde hair. He watched her from the corner of his eyes, a tightness constricting his throat. Liberta thought that he'd never seen her like this before, tender and serious. He struggled against the urge to turn his head, electing instead to close his eyes. Continuing to look at her would do neither of them any good, if the hammer of his pulse were any indication. She poured the rinse over his head, the droplets of water splashing into the basin, like calming rain on a tin roof. A rough sponge gritted across his skin, wiping away the residual filth and blood. Her cool hands deliberately worked at his bindings, occasionally pausing to gently position his body. Her every thought and action tempered by her consideration for him.

Finally, she reached the thick wads of gauze, crusted to his skin with blood. She clicked her tongue in agitation. "Take a deep breath," she coached, and he complied. "Now, breathe out," she said as she ripped the gauze free in a single, fluid motion. In that instant, his breath expelled as a sharp bark of agony, his head rocked backwards, his body went rigid, his fingers clutched the silky, sheer fabric of her sun dress in his fist, clenched tight in pain.

"_Cazzo_! Warn me when you're going to do something like that!" he snapped.

His scowl melted at the sound of her chiming laughter. "So you could pull away, and end up hurting yourself more?"

Even when inflicting pain, she was considerate as to not cause further injury. He watched her hands tend his injury with purposeful intent, not a single wasted motion. He hissed as the damp cloth erased the dried blood from the skin surrounding his wound, bright red, angry flesh. She smoothed the cool poultice across his shoulder, and he sighed with relief.

"The willow bark should help with the pain and inflammation," she explained.

She turned to rummage through cabinets nearby the door until she found replacement gauze, and returned to his side. With the gauze in place, she leaned over him, wrapping the bandages around his now clean torso.

_This girl is really something else_, Liberta thought to himself.

Her work near completion, she gave an appraising look towards his bandages. A sigh passed between her slightly parted lips. They looked so soft, so warm. Her hands lingered in their gentle ministration, smoothing and tugging at his dressings. His eyes closed as he revelled in the strange comfort of her touch. When had she become this delicate and gentle? He found himself wondering of things… Things he probably should not. He opened his eyes, and she looked up to meet his gaze. He was lost in those amethyst depths, wide with concern. Her captured her fingers in tender embrace, holding them in place against his chest. He leaned imperceptibly closer, ignoring the protests of his aching sides, his lips crashed against hers. His tongue slipped in to fill the void between her lips, tasting her honeyed sweetness.

"I'm sorry… I can't," she whispered, abruptly pulling from his grasp.

Her hands darted upwards to obscure her watery gaze. Silence reigned as he stared blankly at the wall, listening to her retreating footsteps and click of the door closing behind her. Alone, he allowed his head to drop backwards, heaving a wearied sigh.

"Debito… Between the two of us, I'm not sure who's more the fool," Liberta muttered.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for reading The Eleventh Story: Recuperation and Restraint!_

_I very much hope you liked it. With this chapter we're kicking off the new arc. I've plotted it out with my friend nish0, and I think there will be three more arcs after this one. So we still have a long way left to go. _

_Gonna plug for nish0, she's working on a pretty cool romance a Shunsui-Rangiku pairing. Stay tuned for updates!_

_It's kind of funny, when I started this story, I'd intended it to be an action-adventure, but it's sort of become a shoujo-romance. *scratches head in confusion* I'm not sure how that happened, but I'm rolling with it. I think it was Fox Kit Princess asking for a pairing… _

_Anyway, __**please review**__. I'm anxious to hear your thoughts! I'll start bullying you for reviews. I'm not above such dirty under-handed tactics. ; )_

_Translations:_

_Cazzo = Italian expletive that literally translates to 'penis', but I think it's probably closer to fuck, in English. According to Wikipedia, it's the most common curse word in the entire language. **** The more you know._

_Garcon = French for boy. Most commonly used to mean waiter, but can also mean "someone of lesser rank."_

_Mi dispaice, signore = I'm sorry, sir_


End file.
